


Quarantine Zone No. 6

by WhiteEevee



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence, Guns, M/M, Slow Burn, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-09 09:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 121,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteEevee/pseuds/WhiteEevee
Summary: Shion is living a peaceful, albeit boring life inside Quarantine Zone No. 6. Outside the wall, the world is plagued with the undead and beyond salvation. Or so he thought.Novel retelling with zombies.





	1. A Minor Blip

**Author's Note:**

> Happy October! For this spooky month, let's have a zombie AU retelling of the novels. And here we go~

Shion peered over Safu’s shoulder. A storm was supposedly racing toward the city and it was scheduled to hit around four that evening. The clouds were already starting to look ominous, hanging low and fat over the Moondrop. Shion jigged his leg beneath the desk, counting the seconds silently.

The classroom held no clock; professors measured their classes with pocket timers that vibrated at the end of the class period. They insisted on the students’ undivided attention, and found the only way that was possible was to make clock-watching impossible. A few professors even recommended that the windows be removed or shuttered as well, but blessedly the Board ruled against them. Shion didn’t know if he would be able to survive a class without a glimpse or four out the window.

His seat was two rows from the front, center left, so there was a buffer between him and the professor’s scrutinizing gaze, but that also meant that there was a row between him and the window. Luckily, Safu held the seat beside him, and he was constantly sneaking glances over her shoulder to survey the world outside.

Not that it was much of a view. The forest park always looked pretty, especially in the warmer months, but after twelve years of staring at the scenery, it was more of the same. Past the park were the Moondrop, whose metallic, pockmarked surface could never be mistaken for beautiful, and the wall that surrounded the city.

The wall wasn’t ugly—it was a creamy off-white color and sparkled when the sunlight hit it at a certain angle—but it _was_a one-hundred-and-fifty foot reminder that No. 6 was a terrarium. The wall was necessary to keep them safe from the outside, but it depressed the aesthete in Shion.

On the second floor of the school building, they were comfortably over the heads of the forest park trees. Some days it felt like he could reach out and pull himself to the top of the wall. And from there… He didn’t know. Half of him wanted to see what lay beyond that, to know if the world was really as damned as the Bureau made it seem, but the other half dreaded ever knowing.

“Shion, lecture’s up here.”

Shion started guiltily and apologized. His classmates snickered, as they were apt to do whenever he got caught daydreaming. Safu shook her head reprovingly, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth.

“Space case,” she muttered, and went back to taking word-for-word notes.

What seemed like hours later, the professor paused mid-lecture and checked his pocket. Shion leaned forward in his seat and took hold of his book bag strap. The professor straightened.

“That’s all the time we have today.”

Shion shot up from his chair, seconds before anyone else, and swiped his books into his bag. Safu watched him, wide-eyed, as she slipped hers into her satchel.

“Reports are due first thing Monday morning,” the professor droned, as if the class wasn’t clamoring to escape, “and be careful on your way home. A storm’s on its way.”

“You’re energetic today,” said Safu, rising and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Is your mom preparing some kind of birthday feast?”

“Hm? Oh, no,” Shion laughed. “I’m just… I don’t know. I’m restless today.”

They walked out of the classroom together and down the stairs to the first floor entrance. Their bikes were lined up side by side on the wall, each unchained and identical. No one had to worry about which bicycle was theirs since the handlebars had a chip coded to the card of the resident who owned it. Shion and Safu hung back to wait until the crowd thinned enough for them to dig their bikes out.

“So you’re not doing anything special with your mom today?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“You could come over my house for a little. Grandma’s been asking about you.” Safu moved in and nudged the girl in front of her out of the way. “And I have a birthday present for you. I didn’t want to bring it to school, in case the storm got bad.”

Shion perked up. “Really? What is it?”

“You’ll have to come over if you wanna know.”

Safu shot him a coy smile and pulled ahead on her bike. Shion swung onto his own bicycle and pedaled after her.

“I’m really curious,” Shion said when he’d caught up. Safu smiled. “But I told Mom I’d come home right after school. She’s worried about the hurricane.”

Safu’s smile shrunk and she looked up at the sky. The clouds were starting to roil and make threatening noises.

“Mm… It’s probably best to listen to Ms. Karan,” Safu conceded. “Too bad, though. If it got really bad, we could have had a sleepover.”

Shion laughed. “We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Well, we’re getting older. It’s only natural…” Safu became very quiet, but Shion didn’t notice. He thought he felt a raindrop plop onto his head.

“I better get home.” Shion raised a hand in farewell and veered toward the entrance to the forest park.

Shion weaved carefully through the greenery. His bicycle would only go so fast—all the city bikes were modified to max out at a certain mph. He drew in a deep breath and resigned himself to a leisurely cruise speed beneath the brewing sky. He passed the flower garden, and the fountain, and the Moondrop in turn and eventually found his way out on the Chronos side.

A sharp crack reverberated through the air. The rain had picked up speed, but the sound he heard was not a peal of thunder. Shion braked and looked toward the top of the wall. He scanned the height until he spotted the source: a wall sentry, his Security Bureau uniform smeared against the murky sky.

The Security Bureau took shifts on wall patrol, and there were always a few stationed up there, even in hurricane weather. The officer shifted on the wall, raising his arms and pointing a slender, rain-slickened object at something below. A peal of thunder overwrote the second report, but Shion saw the officer’s shoulder jerk with the recoil. He held a military issue K14 sniper rifle; Shion knew from the yearly assemblies that all Security Bureau officers were equipped with one when on patrol.

It happened rarely, but every once in a while the wall patrol would fire a shot over the wall, and when they did, the world froze for a moment. Shion would be in the park, enjoying the sunlight and fragrance of the flowers, watching the smiling people pass by, and then a crack would split the air and everything would go still. The people’s smiles splintered and the children paused mid-play. Even the fountain seemed to quiet.

And then a second later everything would resume, as if the moment had been a minor blip in the rhythm of the world. It was a curious thing, how easily people glossed over the unpleasantness in their reality.

But what lay beyond the wall wasn’t merely unpleasantness. It was a crisis and it wasn’t going away just because they couldn’t see it. Shion didn’t understand how everyone could carry on as if two-thirds of the world’s population wasn’t roaming just outside the wall, ready to maim and eat anything with a heartbeat.

The school assemblies always featured footage of the infected: image upon image of their dead-eyed stares and sagging features, of heads patched with stringy hair, and bodies so emaciated that it was a wonder they could move at all. They were shadows of humanity, hungry dolls left to rot and bake in the sun. In some videos they drifted around aimlessly, as if lost or drunk. In those, they looked very old and very ugly, but harmless. Then there were the other videos, of whole mobs setting upon a panicked deer, ripping and tearing with their mouths and hands, crawling over its body like a swarm of insects. Those were the scenes that Shion took to bed at night.

There were countless names for the event, and still more for the creatures. Whenever they had to darken their conversations with mention of the outside world, the people of Quarantine Zone No. 6 referred to the things as the “stricken” or “infected” out of vestigial politeness. Less apologetic zones called them “abominations,” “corpses,” or simply “the dead.” Whatever the name, the creatures were tireless and insatiable, and they existed in greater numbers than the living population.

No one could ever pinpoint a clear catalyst for the phenomenon, but it didn’t matter in the end whether it was a virus, a consequence of chemical warfare, or divine punishment. Humanity’s numbers had been decimated.

At first the survivors tried to fight back. They quarantined the infected and put a temporary hold on the Babylon Treaty, which forbade the city-states from possessing or developing weapons, but it wasn’t enough. In order to protect those left, the remaining population banned together to sign the Salvation Edict, which instituted a worldwide quarantine of those still living. One by one, the six zones built walls to block out the hordes of dead and infected, and one by one they did their best to rebuild and, in time, forget.

Everyone in No. 6 seemed to be accomplishing forgetting just fine; it seemed Shion was the only one interested in bringing it up. He used to question his professors about why he had never heard of efforts to research the afflicted or find a cure, but all he received for his pains was a letter home suggesting he be submitted for a psychological evaluation. That put an end to any verbal inquiries, but Shion still thought about it from time to time.

_ Or all the time._

Shion frowned and pedaled harder toward home.


	2. The Intruder

Shion stared out the window all throughout dinner, watching the rain and wind rage outside. According to the weather report floating from in the living room, the hurricane was supposed to carry on well into the night, and severe flooding was expected in the West Block As far as birthday presents went, Shion couldn’t have been more delighted.

When he finally managed to peel his gaze away from the storm, he found his mother watching him with a warm smile.

“You sure like storms, don’t you? You’ve barely said a word.”

Shion returned her smile and swallowed another bite of stew. “Sorry. We hardly ever get weather like this, though.”

“Yes, Chronos is rather dull, isn’t it?” Karan craned her head to see the television behind him. “I don’t suppose there’ll be a delay in the morning.”

Shion watched the leaves tear off the almond and camellia trees outside. The wind had even managed to snap a few of the weaker branches off. They screeched across the window glass like the claws of a hungry beast. His heart sped up and he couldn’t help grinning. He felt jittery, and it was all he could do to shovel down the last few spoonfuls of stew, thank his mother for dinner, and excuse himself.

His room was dark, the barest trace of light filtering in from the window. Shion didn’t like the dark, and usually kept the lights on until it was time to turn in for bed, but that night the storm had so transfixed him he was afraid of shattering the moment.

He crossed to the center of his room in darkness, feeling his way past his bed. The wind sent an onslaught of debris into the window, and for a moment Shion thought the gale would be enough to burst the shatter-resistant glass. He flattened the side of his face against the cool surface, straining his ears. If he listened hard enough he thought he could hear the shriek of the wind and rain through the soundproof pane. He could definitely _feel _it, humming beneath his cheek. It almost seemed to be saying something…

Shion clenched his teeth and threw the window open.

His ears popped as the cold, wind, and rain rushed in, disrupting the carefully monitored atmospheric pressure in the room. The roar and wrath of the hurricane was so immense that it felt like he would be sucked out into the storm. He liked the thought. The wind screamed and Shion leaned forward and screamed back. It felt as if he could tame the storm by will alone. His throat was raw, but he kept howling along with the wind until a particularly strong gust almost wrenched him off his feet. He righted himself at the last minute, grabbing the curtains for support.

_ That was close_, he thought, and grinned.

He imagined himself tumbling out of the window to land sprawled in the muddy flowerbeds below, and for some reason he found this hilarious. A fit of giggles bubbled up inside him, thinking of the look of bewilderment on his mother’s face when he appeared at the front door, drenched and sloughing mud onto the carpet of their pristine living room. Soon he was doubled over the sill with laughter. If anyone heard him, they’d probably think he was insane, but Shion couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much or this hard. Not with his mother, not with Safu. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so alive.

An insistent beeping started behind him. Temperature control had kicked in, and if he didn’t shut it off, it would automatically close and lock the window to commence the dehumidifying process. Shion pushed off the windowsill and swiped at the water on his face with his soggy sleeves, which only succeeded in dripping a small puddle onto the floor. He crossed the room and switched the temperature control off before returning to the window to enjoy the chaos a little longer.

He leaned to rest his arms on the sill once more—

—and something shot up in front of him.

Shion shouted and lurched back, slipping on the puddle he’d made on the floor and landing hard on his backside. His yelp of pain was smothered beneath a freezing, rain-slicked hand.

Shion’s mind stuttered to a halt. _It’s one of them. _He squeezed his eyes shut, too terrified to look. _But it was so fast!__ They’re not supposed to be fast!_

Shion’s head spun from holding his breath, but he was afraid that if he breathed in the scent, he might somehow become infected. He felt the slightest bit of pressure on his chest and hips as the weight of the thing bore down on him. He waited for it to rip his throat out. But it didn’t.

Shion gathered the courage to look, and met a pair of piercing grey eyes. For a moment that was all he could see: light grey eyes, dark with warning. Apart from his pale skin, the intruder was not the least bit corpselike. He wasn’t even scary.

A boy of indeterminate age loomed over him. The boy’s shoulder-length hair clung to the sides of his neck and cheeks in clumps, obscuring most of his small face. Droplets of icy rain dribbled from the boy’s hair and arm over Shion’s nose. He was soaked through, white as a ghost and shivering. But the look in his eyes never wavered.

“Not a word,” the boy hissed.

Shion tried to nod beneath the hand. His heart hammered against his chest. Where did this boy come from? Why was he waiting outside his window? Was that _blood_?

Shion’s eyes widened as his mind caught up to what he was seeing. At first he thought that the large stain on the left shoulder of the boy’s t-shirt was from the rain, but now he could see it was dark red. Shion watched the thick tendrils of blood slide down the boy’s thin arm and felt his panic recede. The boy was injured, injured and running around in a hurricane in nothing but a short-sleeved shirt and shorts.

Shion took a second more searching look at the boy. His face was very thin and pale. There was an almost starved or feral look about him. But his eyes shone brightly, patiently, as if he were waiting for something. Or hoping.

“Shion?” His mother’s voice drifted in from outside the door. A pang of fear shot through him. If she opened the door and found them… The boy turned his wide eyes toward the sound, and Shion saw his throat contract.

“Are you alright in there? I heard a noise.”

Shion touched the hand clamped over his mouth. The boy flinched, but Shion tapped the back of his hand lightly, trying to communicate with his eyes. The boy’s gaze returned to him, and for a moment Shion could see himself reflected in the grey: calm and steady. The hand withdrew from his mouth. Shion drew in a grateful breath and craned his head toward the door.

“I’m fine,” he called. “I just tripped.”

Karan was quiet for a moment. “Did you open the window?”

“Ah…” Shion glanced at the boy still hovering over him. “Yes, I did.”

He heard an amused sigh from the other side of the door. “I should have known… Make sure you close it soon, or you’re going to catch a cold. The cherry cake’s ready, if you want some.”

“I’ll be down a little later. I’m still full from dinner.”

“Okay then…”

Shion watched the shadow underneath the door recede. He sighed. The boy echoed his relief, rolling off him and collapsing in a cross-legged heap against the edge of Shion’s bed.

Shion pushed himself to his feet and moved towards the bathroom. The intruder stuck his leg out and Shion hopped sideways to avoid tripping and falling again.

“Where are you going?” The boy’s question was casual. If he hadn’t almost tripped over his leg, Shion would’ve thought he wasn’t the least bit concerned with the answer.

“I’m getting the first-aid kit. Your shoulder needs to be treated.”

The boy’s brow furrowed, but he pulled his leg back under him. Shion continued toward the bathroom. On his way, he stopped to turn the atmospheric pressure and dehumidification systems back on, but kept the sensors off. He had a feeling the motion sensors wouldn’t take too kindly to registering a second, unauthorized person in his bedroom. The window across the room sealed shut, and the air felt instantly warmer.

The boy was still lolled against the bed when Shion returned, but despite his lazy posture, Shion could tell he was watching him closely. He knelt on the floor and selected the scissors from the kit.

“May I?” Shion asked, gesturing to the boy’s bloody arm.

He shrugged his unhurt shoulder. “Knock yourself out.”

Shion felt eyes on him as he snipped the t-shirt sleeve away and swabbed the wound with antiseptic. The boy’s gaze was so intense it turned oddly magnetic, and Shion had to fight against the urge to look up to meet it. He had never seen eyes like this boy’s before; they were the same hue as the storm ravaged sky outside.

_ Focus, _he reminded himself.

The wound wasn’t life threatening, but it was bleeding steadily and Shion was certain it would require stitches. He wracked his brain for the correct procedure. His studies included an overview of basic first-aid, but he hadn’t expected to actually use it. Shion muttered the steps to himself and began searching the kit for anesthetic.

The boy leaned away as Shion flicked the syringe to release any air bubbles. “What is that?”

“Anesthetic. I need to numb the skin around the wound so I can stitch it up.”

“What kind of basic first-aid kit has anesthetic?”

Shion shrugged and held out his hand for the boy’s arm, grinning. He knew it wasn’t very nice to grin at a time like this, but he couldn’t help his excitement at putting his knowledge to practical use.

The boy scowled at him. “Sadist,” he mumbled, extending his arm.

“Shion, actually. But then you probably already knew that from my mom.”

The boy grunted. Shion injected his arm several times around the injury and sat back to wait for the anesthetic to take effect. “What’s your name?”

“Nezumi.”

Shion paused. He didn’t seem to be joking. “Huh… I guess both our parents like wildlife.”

Nezumi made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Something like that.”

They were silent for a moment and Nezumi finally started to relax. He stopped watching Shion like a hawk and started to take stock of his surroundings. The room wasn’t much to look at—a bed, some bookshelves, and a small desk and reading light in the corner—but Nezumi’s eyes raked over the room like there was something secret and important about it.

_ Nezumi… _Shion tilted his head. The boy in front of him didn’t look like any rodent he’d ever seen. He was small and weatherworn, but there was a sense of strength to him.

_ It’s in his eyes_. Every time Nezumi looked at him it was like staring into pool of cool, clean water. It reminded him of the feeling he got when he stared out the window at school, or when he stood face to face with the hurricane. It was limitless.

Nezumi turned to face him again and Shion felt his face flush. He looked sharply away.

“Erm, what happened to your arm? It looks like a…” He paused and frowned.

“A gunshot wound?” Nezumi finished for him. “It is.”

“But that’s… How? No one in No. 6 has guns. Not since the wall was built.”

“I assure you, there are people in No. 6 with guns. Nice big ones.”

“Well, I mean, I know some of the Security Bureau have them, but that’s only when they’re on wall patrol. They’re only for protection, in case… you know.”

The corner of Nezumi’s mouth twitched. It took Shion a moment to realize it was a smile—or more accurately, a smirk. “In case of zombies, you mean?”

Shion had never heard the creatures spoken of so bluntly before.

“Yes,” Shion said at last. “But the Security Bureau would never use a gun on a civilian.”

“Is that so? Well then I must be a zombie.”

Nezumi continued to smirk, and Shion got the distinct feeling there was a joke he was missing. Shion looked down at the shallow ridge of flesh carved out of Nezumi’s shoulder. It _looked_ like a bullet wound—a graze wound he thought they called it. He swallowed hard.

“Go ahead,” Nezumi said in a low voice. “Ask the question.”

“I’ve…” Shion’s eyes darted from Nezumi’s face to the wound and back again. “I’ve never seen you around before. Do you live in Lost Town?”

“A little more west than that.”

A shiver crawled down Shion’s spine. “But then that would put you outside the wall.”

“Bingo.”

Shion’s mouth popped open. “But you’re alive!”

“Last time I checked.”

“But that’s impossible! Everyone outside the wall is supposed to be dead. Or one of those—those _things_.”

Nezumi’s pitying look was tinged with bitterness. “Is that what they say. Figures. It’s a lot easier to swallow if you pretend they’re all dead.”

“They’re not?”

“No, but most wish they were.”

Shion’s mouth still hung open. Everything Nezumi said went against what he had been taught. All the survivors of the plague were supposed to be absorbed into one of the six quarantine zones, and then the walls were built to separate the living from the dead. But there were humans still out there? It was an unbelievable idea, but then here was Nezumi. Nezumi was not a No. 6 citizen, there was no doubt in Shion’s mind about that—no one in No. 6 looked that haggard, not even in Lost Town—but if he accepted that fact, then that meant that what Nezumi was saying was true.

Shion pressed his mouth into a line and took up the needle he had placed on standby. “Your shoulder should be numb enough now.”

He ignored Nezumi’s bewildered look and began sewing the wound, forcing himself to concentrate on the method while his subconscious sorted through the mess of contradicting information. It was hard work keeping his hands steady, but by the end, he was proud of his handiwork. He finished off the treatment by applying a clean piece of gauze to the wound and taping it down.

Nezumi released a shaky breath. “I had my doubts, but it looks like you know your stuff after all.”

Shion studied him. Now that the worst had passed, he had to make sure that the worst _had_ actually passed. “Did you really get shot?”

“Still don’t believe me about your precious Security Bureau?” Nezumi twisted his arm around to inspect the bandage more closely.

“You weren’t… bitten, then?”

“Ah,” Nezumi said, and the syllable carried with it all the weight that the topic deserved. He lifted his grey eyes to meet Shion’s. “No. If I were bitten, I wouldn’t be climbing into strangers’ windows. I’d be finding the nearest officer and running straight into his next bullet.”

Nezumi’s voice was deadly serious. Shion regretted bringing the topic up. He didn’t want to imagine that any more than he wanted to imagine Nezumi as one of the infected.

Shion cleared his throat. “How’d you get into my window? We’re two stories up.”

Nezumi narrowed his eyes, and Shion knew he’d spotted the deflection. “Rat, remember? I’m good at scurrying up things.”

“You climbed? With your shoulder like that?” Shion tried to imagine it. It must have been excruciating. “That’s impressive.”

Nezumi scoffed, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a loud growl from his stomach. They froze. Then Shion let out a short laugh.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked if you wanted anything to eat or drink.”

Nezumi scowled and turned his face aside. “Why would you? It’s not like I’m your house guest.”

Shion looked around the room. “I’ve got some hot cocoa I could make in here, and there’s stew and cherry cake downstairs.” Nezumi didn’t say anything, so Shion got up and began making them each a hot chocolate.

Nezumi tried to look nonchalant, but Shion saw a flicker of anticipation in his eyes when he took the mug from him. Nezumi took a sip and Shion’s stomach gave a happy little twist at his murmur of pleasure.

_ What else? _Shion glanced at Nezumi’s dirty, ripped shirt and went to his wardrobe. He returned with a clean shirt and a towel, even though Nezumi’s hair was already dry from the dehumidification system.

“You can use my bed, if you want. But change first. I’ll go sneak us some food from downstairs.”

Nezumi took the shirt and made a face. It seemed as though he were about to make a snide comment, but after a moment’s consideration he said slowly, “If I put this on, I can lay in your bed?”

“Yup.”

Nezumi pressed his lips together. Shion smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry if you don’t like the style, but it’s only temp—”

“Thank you.” Nezumi kept his eyes trained on the shirt in his hands when he said it.

Shion’s smile widened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be updating every Monday and Thursday starting next week until the end of the month. After that I might go on a hiatus.... We'll see.


	3. Far Too Late

Shion was still smiling when he came into the kitchen. Karan was planted on the couch in front of the television. She twisted around in her seat when she heard him open the fridge.

“You’re eating more stew?”

“Ah. Yeah, I thought I’d take some in case I get hungry later.”

Karan’s brows drew together and he knew she wasn’t buying it. He didn’t have much practice lying to his mother. Normally, he would consider this a good thing, but not on this occasion.

“Mr. Reeve assigned us a huge report for next Monday, and I’m trying to complete the research tonight. It looks like it’s going to take a while, so I thought I’d bring a snack up.”

Karan shook her head. “They sure keep you busy in the Gifted Curriculum.”

Shion doled the stew into a small bowl then moved toward the cherry cake. It wasn’t steaming anymore, but it still emanated warmth and wafted a fresh, mouthwatering scent. “Anything interesting on the news?”

“More of the same. They moved curfew to seven until the storm is over.”

Shion popped a piece of cake into his mouth and closed his eyes as the delicious taste washed over his tongue. Cherry cake on Shion’s birthday was tradition. Apparently, his father had brought home a box of cherry cake the day Shion was born, and even though his parents divorced two-months later, his mother baked one without fail every September 7th. It tasted better and better with each passing year.

“Oh, here’s something,” Karan said. “A VC escaped the Correctional Facility and was seen fleeing toward Chronos.”

Shion swallowed the lump of cake and approached the TV. Nezumi’s face stared back at him from the screen, the words “VC103221” scrawled underneath.

Shion’s heart pounded. “VC” was short for violence-chip, a tracking device inserted into the bodies of persons who had been convicted of murder, rape, robbery, assault, and a variety of other violent crimes.

_ If Nezumi has a V-chip, they could track him here. _Shion’s hands began to sweat. He clenched them into fists. _No, wait. If they knew, they would have come for him by now. They wouldn’t have publicized the escape unless they had no idea of his location. It has to be that the chip’s not working for some reason._

“He looks so young,” Karan said. “I wonder why he was in the Correctional Facility.”

“How did he manage to get through the Deadlands?” Shion added softly. “It must have been hard to sneak into city.”

“The wall was meant to keep the stricken out, not people.”

Shion looked at his mother. He knew what she meant, but he couldn’t help but hear a deeper, more disturbing implication in her words.

_ Mom was around when they first started the quarantine. She would remember if there were living people outside. _But he couldn’t muster the courage to ask about it.

Karan had returned to watching the images flicker over the screen, her face betraying the resigned boredom of routine.

Shion turned away from the television and retrieved the tray of stew and cherry cake he’d prepared. “I’m heading back to my room.”

Karan turned to him again. A hint of concern still rested in the crease of her brow. “Okay,” she said. “Don’t overwork yourself. Get some sleep tonight—and don’t go opening the window again.”

Shion forced a laugh. “I won’t."

\-----

Nezumi’s voice chided him as soon as he set foot in the bedroom. “What took you so long?”

“I was talking to my mom.”

“She give you a hard time?”

“Not really. She trusts me.” Shion felt a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. His mother _did_ trust him, and he had brought a VC from outside the wall into their home.

_ She would understand. Nezumi’s just a kid, he’s not infected, and he didn’t do anything wrong. At least, I don’t think he did… _Whatever reason there was for Nezumi being in the Correctional Facility, it had to be a misunderstanding.

The room was pitch dark. His hands were full, but Shion elbowed along the wall to try to find the light switch.

“Don’t,” Nezumi said. “Leave the lights off.”

“But I can't see…” Shion mumbled to himself, but he gave up on the light switch.

Carefully, he slid his foot along the floor in front of him, feeling around before taking a step towards his bed. The process repeated every few inches. He didn’t think there were any stray pieces of clothing or shoes of his own to trip over, but there was the first-aid kit and Nezumi’s discarded clothes to worry about.

He heard a snort from the direction of his bed. “That’s some weird dance you’re performing.”

“My eyes have to adjust to the dark again. We can’t all be nocturnal.”

Nezumi chuckled and Shion heard the whisper of fabric against fabric. “One more step and you’re there.”

Shion’s knee bumped up against the mattress. He released a silent breath of relief.

“Smells good,” Nezumi said. “What is that? Soup and…?”

“Stew and cherry cake.”

Shion placed the tray on the bed and slid it forward. For the next few minutes he listened to the clacking of spoon against bowl.

“So… You’re a VC?”

The noise stopped.

“They interrupted the hurricane coverage to show you. You must be pretty famous.”

“Oh yeah,” said Nezumi, resuming his meal. “Did you think you were the only child prodigy in the room?”

“Is the chip still in you?”

“Yes, but it’s not a problem. It’s disabled.”

“You disabled it?”

“That’s right.”

Shion considered this, but he couldn’t say he understood Nezumi’s confidence. He didn’t seem to be the least concerned about the chip or his ability to evade the authorities.

_ The Security Bureau’s looking for him. _If they found out Shion was harboring a person from outside the wall, he would be in serious trouble. It wasn’t too late to be the good law-abiding citizen he was expected to be. But Shion watched Nezumi polish off the last of the stew with an appreciative murmur and he knew it was far too late.

Nezumi traded the spoon for the fork and dug into the cake. “The cake’s good.”

“Isn’t it?” Shion chirped. “My mom’s an excellent baker. She always makes cherry cake for my birthday.”

Shion’s eyes had adjusted enough to the dark now to see the look of skepticism that clouded Nezumi’s face. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Completely defenseless.” Nezumi shoved another bite of cake into his mouth. “You Petri-dish elites sure have it easy. Death is literally at your doorstep and you carry on like everything’s just peachy. Did it even occur to you to be afraid when I leapt through your window?”

“Of course I was afraid. I had no idea who you were.”

“Or what.” Nezumi dropped the fork. It clattered noisily against his plate. “You accepted the bullet wound story a little too quickly, don’t you think? _I _know I’m not zombie, and this _is _a bullet wound, but how can you just take my word for it? How can you be sure I’m not infected? Maybe I’m a psycho VC who’s set on turning and biting every citizen I can get my teeth into.”

Nezumi had a point. Just because the wound on his shoulder wasn’t a bite didn’t mean he was clean. He could’ve been infected at an earlier date.

But no, that wasn’t possible. If Nezumi had been bitten earlier, he would already be showing symptoms. The infection took forty-eight hours to fully metastasize, but sufferers started exhibiting signs of disease a few hours after infection.

He met Nezumi’s eyes. “I couldn’t be sure at first, but I’m sure you’re not now. If you were infected, you’d be experiencing loss of appetite—” he looked pointedly at the stew Nezumi had already wolfed down, “—chills, loss of motor function, sweating, irritability. But you’re not showing any of those symptoms. Although…” Shion placed a hand against Nezumi’s forehead. “You do seem to have a fever. But I don’t think that’s infection related.”

Nezumi brushed his hand off and nodded. “Very nice. You’ll make a fine zombie hunter one day.”

“There are no such things as zombie hunters.”

“Not in this cookie cutter world, maybe.”

Nezumi moved the tray of food to the nightstand and fell back on the bed, splaying his arms and legs out over the covers. He closed his eyes. Shion studied his delicate profile against the faint light.

“Why do you call them zombies?”

“What else am I supposed to call them? A zombie called by any other name will still rip you limb from limb.”

Shion winced at the image. “I’m not criticizing you. I’m just curious why you chose that name out of all the other options.”

“I’m a fan of the classics.”

“…Is it bad out there?”

Nezumi’s eyes slid open, and Shion saw something flicker in their depths. But it was gone when he blinked, replaced by an emotionless calm.

“Not telling.”

Shion straightened. “What? Why not?”

“I’m tired, and I don’t feel like feeding whatever horror fantasy you’ve concocted about outside.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Some things you’re better off not knowing.”

“I guess…” Shion pouted and picked at the bedspread.

“For example,” Nezumi lilted, “now I know what you look like screaming your face red, and the image will haunt me to my untimely death.”

Shion sputtered. Nezumi grinned wolfishly in the gloom.

“I was so shocked when your window burst open and you came out. At first I thought you were suicidal, but no, turns out you’re just a weirdo.”

Shion’s face burned.

“The screaming was surprising enough, but then you started laughing like a lunatic. When that happened, I knew I’d found a real gem.”

“Shut up!”

Shion pounced. He didn’t know what he intended to do once he’d jumped on Nezumi, but he never had to figure it out. One second he was lunging for Nezumi, and the next he was on his back, staring into a pair of light grey eyes. With casual ease, Nezumi pinned Shion’s arms over his head and pressed his legs down hard into his hips. Shion’s legs went numb. The only place he still had feeling were the tips of his toes.

Nezumi leaned in close. “If I were a zombie,” he growled, “you’d be dinner.”

Shion shivered, but when Nezumi drew back he saw that Shion’s eyes were shining not with fear, but excitement.

“You’re so fast! I couldn’t even react before I was pinned! Where’d you learn to do that?”

Nezumi blinked down at him. “You’re definitely a lunatic.” But he was grinning again, and this time there was no mockery in it. Shion grinned back. The pressure on his wrists and hips eased as Nezumi sank down on top of him with a sigh.

“Nezumi?” Nezumi’s cheek rested on Shion’s neck, and he could feel the heat searing his collarbone. “You’re burning up.”

“S’fine. I’ll sleep it off.”

“You should take some antibiotics.”

Nezumi muttered something incoherent. Shion sighed through his nose. “You know, there’s a whole bed. You don’t have to sleep on top of me.”

“You’re soft. And warm.”

The corners of Shion’s mouth lifted at the sleep-slurred sound of Nezumi’s voice. He gently placed his hands on the small of the other boy’s back.

“It’s been so long,” Nezumi mumbled a few breaths later. “I forgot… Living people are warm.”

Shion’s heart gave a painful swoop. What did that mean? What kind of life had Nezumi led that the warmth of another person came as an epiphany to him? A fierce protectiveness swelled in Shion’s chest and he tightened his grip around Nezumi’s waist.Nezumi’s breathing evened out, and he seemed to have dropped into a peaceful slumber. Lulled by the rise and fall of their chests in tandem, Shion, too, slipped into unconsciousness.

Shion woke alone the next morning. Nezumi had disappeared, the only evidence of his visit an empty tray and a missing first-aid kit.


	4. Whiplash

Yamase sighed. “Sanpo’s acting up again.”

Shion frowned at his monitor.

The clock had just struck six, and the majority of No. 6 was filing out of work, hoping to get home before the winter chill was fully upon them. Shion and Yamase were the only employees in the Park Administration Office, and would remain so until their shift ended at seven-thirty. They were responsible for general park maintenance, but their main duty was to monitor the three cleaning robots that patrolled the forest park.

The robots were still prototypes, and were always flagging objects for Shion and Yamase to check. Yamase had taken to calling them Ippo, Niho, and Sanpo for one-step, two-step, three-step, because every day they spent working with the things it felt like taking one step forward, three steps back.

“What is it this time?” Shion asked.

“Looks like…” Yamase leaned closer to his screen. “A head...”

Shion turned sharply toward him. He pushed up from his desk and hurried over to check the camera feed.

“…Of lettuce,” Yamase finished.

On screen, the lettuce rested benignly under a park bench, as if waiting for whomever dropped it to come back. Shion pursed his lips and shot Yamase a dirty look. Yamase shrugged and gave him an unassuming smile.

At twenty, Yamase was four years older than him, but they got along well. They were both quiet by nature and therefore appreciated that the majority of their job was interacting with machinery rather than other people. Yamase spoke politely and pleasantly, and best of all, he never asked Shion why he worked in the Park Administration Office.

Anyone who had known Shion four years ago would have pegged him for a position in a high-end research facility, or something similarly grand. His exceptional intellect was proven by his high Aptitude and Skills test scores, and his acceptance into the Gifted Curriculum meant he was on track for the best of what the city could offer.

But a lot could change in four years. A lot could change in one night. Shion had learned this firsthand.

The Security Bureau had arrived at the house an hour after Shion woke. They had somehow traced the escaped VC to them. Karan went pale when they sat Shion down in the living room for a “serious talk.” When he admitted he had housed the VC in his bedroom the night before and treated his wounds, his mother was trembling so hard she had to be helped into a chair.

_ You knew he was a VC and you still didn’t say anything to your mother, or call the Bureau?_

_ No._

_ Why is that?_

_ He was just a kid, and he was hurt. I wanted to help…_

_ So you felt bad for him, and that’s why you decided to let a dangerous criminal stay in your house, with no intention of alerting the authorities. You were very lucky he didn’t try to harm you or your mother. Who knows what he came in contact with while he was outside the wall? And now you’ve let him escape._

The interrogating officer was named Rashi. He spoke calmly and gently, but there was a steely threat in his eyes whenever he looked at Shion. Rashi’s gaze said, “I know you know about outside, and if you utter so much as a syllable about it, I will destroy you.” Shion still had nightmares of those merciless eyes.

The officers took him and his mother in for blood tests and grilled Shion for two more days before releasing him. The Security Bureau concluded that Shion’s ability to make sound judgments and take appropriate action were severely deficient, however he was not infected. They stripped him of his special privileges and threw him and his mother out onto the street with nowhere to go and no means of making a living.

So now, four years later, Shion was taking trades courses with the Labor Bureau and working part-time in the Park Administration Office to pay off his tuition. His schedule was so tight that he had been missing a lot of his classes. If it went on any longer, his instructors warned him that he wouldn’t be able to graduate. All his intellect and promise meant nothing now that he had fallen out of the city’s good graces.

But he didn’t regret that night four years ago. He had given serious thought to his judgments and decisions and he found nothing deficient. No matter how many snide lectures he received from the Bureau officers, or how may hardships his new life presented, he still believed he had done the right thing when he let Nezumi stay.

His mother had understood too, after the officers had gone and he had time to explain. She had been furious at first, though, but not for the reasons he thought.

“I don’t care if we live in Chronos, Shion!” she’d huffed when he had apologized to her that first day on the streets. Her dark eyes were wild with pain. “I care about your safety. I was terrified for you! You lied to me, and you let a stranger into your room—a bleeding stranger from outside the wall. Who could have been infected! What if you had gotten sick? The Bureau would have taken you away, and then what would I—”

Karan had stopped then. She shook her head and buried her face in her hands. She stood there so long—homeless, jobless, and distressed—that Shion told her everything. He explained how he could do it, why he _had_ to do it. He explained it all, and by the end, she was still worried, but she understood.

Not everyone had been as accepting. The truth of the incident was not divulged to anyone outside of Shion, his mother, and the Bureau officers, but everyone knew that Shion lost his spot in the Gifted Curriculum and Chronos. Nearly all his friends and instructors snubbed him—subtly at first, but more openly as the distance between them grew. He had known No. 6 wasn’t the perfect, caring place it pretended to be, but it was never more palpable than in those first few weeks.

Safu was the only friend who stood by his side. She became indignant on his behalf and picked fights with anyone who gave him trouble, even though she didn’t know why he had lost his privileges. She had asked, of course, many times, but Shion never told her the reason. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but in all his deliberations, he couldn’t think of a way to explain it that she would be able to understand. Safu was an invaluable friend and Shion loved her, but there were parts of him he could not share with her.

_ I want to have sex with you._

Shion winced at the memory, still so fresh in his mind. A few days ago, Safu flew to No. 5 to take part in a two-year research program. But before she left, she asked him for a favor.

“I love you, Shion. More than anyone else,” she’d said, her face red but resolute. “I want to have sex with you. What’s your answer?”

Shion could hardly remember what he said in response, only that it was pathetic and inarticulate and Safu deserved better. He and Safu had been friends since they were two years old; he should have realized that she had feelings for him sooner. Or at least, he should have known how to speak to her without sounding like a bumbling fool. Whatever it was he ended up replying, Safu had only rolled her eyes, hiding her disappointment behind a flippant comment and a wave goodbye. Now he wouldn’t see her again for two years.

_ I should’ve explained myself better. I should have been more sensitive._

Shion groaned inwardly and trudged back to his desk to clear Ippo’s logs of Indistinguishable Object errors. _I’ll call her today._

“It’s a shame,” Yamase said, still staring at the forlorn produce. “Some poor lady’s probably at home right now, wondering where her lettuce went.” He clicked a few buttons on the control panel. The camera feed shifted as Sanpo’s arm came into view. It scooped up the lettuce and threw it into its dust box.

As Shion plopped back into his chair, he heard a clatter. He turned to see Yamase leaning heavily over the control panel. “Are you okay?”

Yamase hissed through his teeth. “Yeah,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a dizzy spell…”

“Another one? You should really go see someone at the clinic. It could be serious.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just stress. I haven’t been sleeping well the last few days.” Yamase straightened, but his skin looked pale and waxy. “I’m… I’m going to get a coffee from the back. Can you cover here for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure. I have some ibuprofen, if you want...”

Yamase waved him off and walked toward the break room. Shion worked alone for the next ten minutes, but then he ran out of work to do. He checked the clock: six-thirty.

“Time moves so _slowly _here,” he groaned, slouching and hanging his head over the back of the chair.

A buzzer sounded, indicating that Sanpo had an Indistinguishable Object error. With another groan, Shion righted himself and slapped the keyboard, turning both the camera and audio switches on, even though he only needed the first. The camera feed didn’t show anything, but then something small and dark streaked past Sanpo’s sensor. A rodent of some sort, he’d guessed.

Shion sighed. Another false alarm.

Something moved in Shion’s periphery. He flinched, but relaxed when he realized that it was just Yamase shuffling into the room.

“Are you feeling better?”

At the sound of his voice, Yamase’s vague gaze turned toward Shion. He stared a moment, as if he didn’t recognize him, then he stretched his neck forward and gave the air a long sniff. Yamase began walking in his direction.

A soft wheezing noise escaped his coworker’s open mouth, growing louder as he approached. A coil of fear settled in Shion’s stomach. Shion rose from his chair.

“Yamase…?”

Yamase lunged. Shion stumbled back as the man’s full weight crashed into him. He collided with his chair and fell hard to the floor, cracking his elbow on the control panel on the way down. Shion cried out, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the pain. Yamase scrambled bodily onto him.

“Yamase, stop! Yamase!”

His shrieks fell deafly on his assailant. Yamase grabbed him around the back of the neck and yanked his face toward his snapping jaws.

“No!” Shion threw his arm up and jammed the heel of his hand against Yamase’s forehead to keep him at bay. He ignored the jolt of pain in his elbow and used his other arm to shove at the body on top of him. An animal snarl tore out of Yamase’s throat as he strained against the hold. Shion’s neck burned where his fingers dug into the flesh; Yamase’s grip was impossibly strong.

_ Nononono!_

Shion gasped and pulled his arm out from between their bodies to grab a fistful of Yamase’s hair. He wrenched it back. The snapping jaws receded a few precious inches, and then the hair ripped out of Yamase’s scalp in a dark clump. Shion yelped. A cloud of hot, dank breath misted over his face.

_ I’m going to die._

The door exploded open and a team of Security Bureau rushed in. Over Yamase’s shoulder, Shion saw an officer raise a fat black handgun and fire a shot. Yamase twitched, but continued snapping, closer and closer, spraying spittle. Instinctively, Shion turned aside and squeezed his eyes and mouth shut to avoid the saliva entering his body.

Another shot and Yamase’s head thunked down on top of him, suddenly silent. Shion’s eyes popped open. He took one look at the still body on top of him and the bullet protruding out of its neck and scrambled away towards the console.

Shion’s heart thundered, his breath coming in quick, shallow rasps. _They killed him. No. No, he was already dead, but… But…_

“How?” Shion whispered.

He looked up into the barrel of a gun. The bullet punched into his chest and darkness swallowed him.


	5. Effigy

Shion woke disoriented. It felt like he was dragging his consciousness out from the depths of a sludge pit. His head whirled and his mouth was dry. The back of his neck burned. The world beneath him was vibrating. He managed to crack his eyes open, but he could only see darkness through the slits.

_ Where am I? __I can’t remember… _He was working. He was in the Park Administration Office and then… _Yamase!_

Shion lifted his head and opened his eyes. He was sitting in a small room with windows. The floor jolted and he realized it wasn’t a room, but a car_. _It was dark, but he could see buildings streak by outside. His hands were cuffed in front of him. The car bumped again, and something brushed his arm. Shion flinched back. A man sat beside him.

“Awake?” asked a quiet voice.

Shion swiveled around and saw a man watching him from the passenger seat. His heart jumped and quickened. The man was Rashi. Rashi watched him calmly, and his eyes were still as unsmiling as ever.

“Wha…” Shion swallowed, and tried to wet his parched lips with his tongue. “What’s going on?” he asked, casting a glance around the car. The officer next to him stared impassively out the window. “Where are you taking me?”

“Down to our offices,” said Rashi. “We have some questions we’d like to ask you.”

Shion glanced down at the cuffs around his wrists and Rashi smiled blandly. Shion swallowed again. “Yamase…?”

Rashi perked up. “Ah, yes. Your coworker suffered a terrible and violent mental breakdown.”

_ A mental breakdown? _Shion shivered as he remembered Yamase’s red-rimmed eyes staring, wide and hungry, as he struggled to get to him.

“You two had a fight and he attacked you. We barely saved you in time.”

Shion frowned. “That’s not what happened. That wasn’t a mental breakdown, that was…”

“Was?” Rashi prompted.

Shion clenched his fists. He knew how dangerous—how unbelievable—his next words were, but he had to say them. “He was infected. He didn’t look like it, but he was. He tried to bite me!”

Rashi pulled a face. “Oh, please. You’re not seriously suggesting that one of the infected got into our city, or that the disease has somehow slipped past our walls, are you? That’s ridiculous.”

“But I saw him. _You _saw him, didn’t you? You shot him.”

_ They shot me. _Shion looked down at his chest. It throbbed, but there didn’t seem to be a wound. _A tranquilizer dart then? _That would explain the dry mouth and dizziness.

“_I _didn’t shoot him,” said Rashi. “Shingo did.” He gestured graciously to the driver. “He’s an excellent shot. You should see him on wall patrol.”

Shion paled.

“But before that, I saw a very sick man, who wouldn't listen when we clearly called for him to stand down three times, as is procedure. We had no choice but to shoot. But you say that this man—a formerly upright citizen, who never so much as set foot near the wall—was somehow infected. That sounds delusional. Don't you think, Abe?”

The officer next to Shion nodded.

Shion stared dumbly between them. “But he… T-that’s…”

“Don’t worry, Shion,” said Rashi evenly. “I don’t think you’re delusional. You’re too smart for that. It’s far more likely you’ve staged this incident to incite a panic.”

Shion stilled. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s no secret that you’re a disgruntled citizen. Everyone knows that you lost your privileges four years ago. You were a bright star, destined for greatness. And then suddenly you were at the bottom of the pyramid. A rapid transition like that is very stressful to the psyche.” A thin smile played on Rashi's lips while he spoke, his tone conversational. “You must have felt betrayed by the city and its citizens. You felt your talents were being wasted, that you weren’t getting the attention you deserved.

“But that would all change if you discovered infection within the city. If something like that were revealed, it would cause a big commotion—big enough to bring the city to its knees—and then people would finally start paying attention to you again.

“When Yamase had his breakdown, it clicked for you. You thought you’d take advantage of your coworker’s condition, tell everyone that he was infected, that he attacked you and tried to bite you.”

“That’s ridiculous! I would never do that! I would never lie about something that serious.”

“Wouldn’t you? You’re the kind of person who lies to his dear old mother; what’s a whole city? You would do anything to get back in the limelight.” Rashi tutted. “I think you even poisoned your coworker. Slipped something into his coffee to make him go crazy and violent. You’re smart enough to do it, and angry enough. All for the sake of your revenge.”

Shion’s heart pounded as Rashi’s merciless gaze bore into him. A cold bead of sweat rolled down his spine. Whatever really happened to Yamase didn’t matter; the Security Bureau didn’t want anyone to know.

“You’ve got this all planned out, don’t you?” Shion said, his voice coming out more level than he thought it would. “I don’t even have a chance.”

Rashi chuckled darkly. “I’m afraid not. The cuffs you’re wearing have a tracker in them, so your chances of escape are slim. Still, no one will blame you if you try to make a run for it. It may be your last chance to breathe free air after all.” Rashi turned to glance out the windshield. “Better make your move soon, though. The Correctional Facility is a couple miles outside of West Block, and I won’t be responsible for what happens if you run full pelt into the Deadlands.”

Shion’s sight went hazy and Rashi’s words began to sound like static. The Correctional Facility was the black hole of No. 6. If they got him within its walls there was no coming back.

He turned toward the window, and realized they were passing through Lost Town. He and his mother had a house there, right over the bakery. After they had been kicked out of Chronos, they had to start their life from scratch. It had taken a while, but now people from all over No. 6 came by to taste Karan’s delicious pastries and fresh breads. They would be passing their house any second.

“What will you tell my mother?” His voice sounded like it was coming from someone else.

“Same thing we’ll tell everyone else: You were a dangerous radical who plotted to destroy the city and caused the death of his coworker. Your mother will be shocked, no doubt, but you have a record, so it won’t be too hard to believe. She’ll be sad for a little while, but her friends will help her through it, and soon she’ll get back to life as normal.”

_ You’re wrong. She’s not that gullible and she wouldn’t forget me that easily. _Shion felt a lump form in his throat. _Mom…_

Had he said goodbye to his mother that morning? When was the last time he told her he loved her? He must have said it when they hugged yesterday—right? She had lost weight recently and he remembered thinking how much better she looked now that she had something to direct her energy toward. He was proud of her, and told her so, and she had laughed and hugged him tight, her apron smelling of fresh strawberries from the cakes she’d just put out.

Shion swallowed and swallowed, trying to keep the tears down. If he cried now he wouldn’t be able to stop.

As they pulled out of the city limits, Shion found himself thinking miserably of another person to whom he never had the chance to say goodbye.

He knew the chances of ever seeing Nezumi again were so low they were practically nonexistent, but he still clung to the hope that they would see each other again, somehow. He had dreamt enough times of seeing the boy at his window, the moonlight glancing off his pale face, his grey eyes gleaming with laughter. But once he was taken to the Correctional Facility, Shion would see no one except whoever minded his cell.

_ I wish I could have met him again. Just once…_

“Once we get to the Correctional Facility there’ll be nothing around for miles. Except the stricken, of course, but I’d hardly call that a comfort.” Rashi prattled on, seeming to enjoy himself more and more as the distance between Shion and the life he knew grew. Shion sagged in his seat, fear and misery eating a hole in his stomach.

“This will be the last time you’ll see any signs of life,” Rashi continued, indicating the trees blurring by. “I’d take a good, hard look so you have something nice to remember during the hours you’ll spend in solitary.”

The car crawled to a stop. Rashi leaned forward in his seat. “What is it?”

“There’s something in the middle of the road, sir,” said the driver.

Shion straightened and peered out the window. The headlights glinted off a silver hunk roving back and forth across the road. He blinked. “Sanpo?”

Rashi leered at it. “What is that? A cleaning robot? What’s that doing out here?”

“Probably malfunctioned,” Abe said, his expression bored. “They’re always malfunctioning. Biggest waste of the citizens’ tax dollars to date.”

The officers paused a minute to take stock. They were between the city limits and the western border, and the road was closely flanked on both sides by trees and low laying vegetation, so there was no way around the robot.

Rashi growled and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Keep an eye on the convict,” he snapped, and slammed the door behind him.

Sanpo collected fallen leaves and poured them into its dustbin as Rashi approached, the officer’s dark figure silhouetted against the headlights. Sanpo turned to him. Its sensors flashed and it charged forward, faster than one would think a cleaning robot could move. Rashi shouted as the robot tackled him to the ground.

Shion looked on, mouth agape.

“What the hell…” muttered Abe, and Shingo opened the driver side door to get out.

Two small, dark shapes bolted into the car through the open door and leapt through the air. The officers cried out in surprise as two grey mice latched onto their throats. Shion could see blood dribbling from Abe’s neck where the mouse’s teeth sunk in.

The officer whimpered.

“Shh,” purred a smooth voice.

A man slipped into the passenger seat. A dark hood obscured his face and shoulders, but Shion’s heart skipped.

“The mice have bombs implanted in their bodies. Do as I say, and you both get to go home with your heads intact. You.” The man motioned to Abe. “Take the kid’s cuffs off.”

The officer’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t move.

“Now,” the hooded figure commanded. The mice began to click an ominous mechanical countdown. The next moment, Shion’s hands were free. “Get out,” said the man to the officers.

The officers stumbled out of the car, hands raised as if they meant to grab the mice, but too terrified to risk it. The hooded figure climbed into the driver’s seat.

Shion craned his neck to get a look at the face reflected in the rearview mirror, and—

“_Nezumi_,” Shion breathed, voice tight with excitement.

“Shion,” Nezumi returned without sparing him a glance. His hands rooted around under the wheel for a few moments before he spun the car in a fluid U-turn. He floored it and they raced back the way they’d come.


	6. What's Next

A million questions flitted through Shion’s mind. After so many years wondering if they’d ever see each other again, Nezumi was right in front of him. He just appeared out of nowhere and swept back into his life, like some kind of black-clad deus ex machina. Shion strained against his seatbelt to get a better look at Nezumi’s profile. Nezumi’s grey eyes flashed to his for a second, and Shion’s stomach wriggled in a slightly uncomfortable, but pleasant way.

“Why are you grinning like that?” Nezumi drawled. “Don’t tell me you enjoy being kidnapped and incarcerated.”

Shion felt flushed and excited and he didn’t even care if he was smiling like an idiot. “No, I just… I’m…” Shion bit his lip and tried to focus on not babbling. “Are you really going to kill those officers?”

“I lied about the bombs.” Nezumi checked the rearview mirror. “But if fortune smiles upon us, they’ll get tetanus from the bites.”

Shion tilted his head. “Those mice were robots, right? They looked so lifelike…” He looked behind them, but the officers were just specks now. “I wonder why Sanpo jumped on Rashi like that.”

“Was that that officer’s name?” Nezumi smirked. “I tweaked the robot’s code to recognize him as trash.”

Shion’s smile broadened. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Nezumi didn’t answer. He adjusted his grip on the wheel so he could steer with one hand. With the other, he unwrapped the cloth around his head and tossed it at Shion.

Shion pulled the fabric off his face and studied it. “This is superfiber!”

“Gold star. Now wrap your big head in it and stay down.”

“Why? No one’s coming after us. We can use the car to escape.”

“Leave the escape plans to me, please,” Nezumi said through gritted teeth. “We have to ditch the car. Something’s up, that went way too smoothly. I’m going to jam the accelerator and then you and I are going to jump out.”

Shion’s eyes widened. “Jump out?” He looked at the speedometer. It was cresting ninety. Shion hastily wound the cloth around his head and shoulders as Nezumi had it before. “What about you? Won’t you get hurt?”

“I live in West Block, Shion. Jumping out of a speeding car is nothing.”

Shion couldn’t tell if he was being facetious.

They were approaching the border between West Block and No. 6 rapidly. The wall loomed like a stern sentry above them, and a feeling of foreboding wrenched Shion’s stomach.

The car braked suddenly. Shion braced his arms against the back of the passenger seat as the tires shrieked and screeched to a halt. He and Nezumi popped up and slammed back against the headrests. If this weren’t a Security Bureau cruiser, the impact may have broken a few bones.

Nezumi cursed viciously.

“The collision sensors must have tripped the automatic brakes,” Shion explained. His elbow was throbbing angrily, having been abused twice in the last hour.

Nezumi shot him a nasty look. “I’m not an idiot; I disabled both those systems when I got in. This car must have some sort of remote override.”

“It does,” said an icy voice. It was Rashi’s, resounding from somewhere in the interior of the car. “You didn’t tell me you had an accomplice, Shion. And such a crafty one, too. I’m impressed. But I really don’t like being made a fool of.” The car arced and changed direction for the second time. “I’m curious who your knight in shining armor is. Is it someone I know?”

Nezumi scoffed and searched his pockets. He pulled something small and circular out and shoved his hand underneath the steering wheel.

“Wrap up tight and stay low,” Nezumi grunted at Shion.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself, hm?” Rashi said smugly. “Are you afraid I’ll recognize your voice? Perhaps you’re our little escapee from four years ago?”

“I don’t have time to take part in your pointless repartee,” Nezumi said loud and clear. He slithered into the back seat and pushed Shion down. “Shion and I’ve gotta roll.”

Rashi yelled something, but an explosion from up front drowned him out. The aftershock slammed into them.

“Jump, Shion!”

The car door swung open and a blast of cool night air swept into Shion’s face. He grit his teeth and leapt. There was a second of weightlessness, and then he hit the ground and rolled and rolled and rolled down the shoulder of the road. Another enormous explosion sounded behind them, and Shion thought he saw a wheel spin past his head into the trees.

He came to a stop, bruised and dusty, but mostly unharmed. He looked dazedly up at the dark canopy. Nezumi’s head appeared above him.

“You rolled pretty well for your first time. Are you hurt anywhere?”

Shion burst out laughing.

Nezumi clamped a hand over Shion’s mouth. “Quiet!” he hissed. “What is wrong with you? They’ll hear us.”

Shion slapped Nezumi’s hand away and stifled his giggles. “ ‘Shion and I’ve gotta roll’? What are you, twelve?”

Nezumi’s face clouded over. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“That makes it funnier.”

Nezumi clicked his tongue. “You haven’t changed at all.”

His tone was disparaging, but his face told a different story. A warm feeling blossomed in Shion’s chest.

Nezumi climbed to his feet. “Get up. We have to run. _Don’t—_” he shot Shion a warning glare “_—_make that into a joke.”

Shion grinned and followed him into the woods. Lights flashed in the distance, coming their way. Rashi must have called reinforcements.

Nezumi turned sharply toward Shion. “Do you still have your ID on you? Throw it away right now, or they’ll track us down.”

Shion knew that, but it also contained all his personal information. If he let it go, he would officially abandon his life in No. 6. Nezumi’s eyes were calm in the moonlight. There was no rush in them, despite the circumstances. They just watched and waited for his decision.

Shion set his jaw and chucked his ID card deep into the brush. A brown mouse darted out of Nezumi’s pocket and raced off after it, presumably to throw the officers off the trail.

They crouched down in the shadow of the trees until the cruisers passed, and then bolted in the opposite direction. Shion trailed close behind Nezumi in silence. He had a multitude of questions to ask, but he wasn’t sure which one to start with, which one was most likely to get an answer. If Nezumi hadn’t changed either, he would have to pick his questions carefully.

After deliberation, Shion settled on, “How did you know I needed help?”

Nezumi paused, his eyes scanning the darkness. He was quiet so long Shion thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then, “Your robot picked up my mouse.”

Shion thought back, to when it was just an average workday instead of this life or death chase. Sanpo had sent an Indistinguishable Object error and he remembered a small animal darting across the camera. But that didn’t explain how Nezumi knew he was in trouble; the camera feed only went one-way.

“You turned on the communication, right before it happened,” Nezumi added, as if he could hear Shion’s thoughts. His voice darkened. “I heard the attack, and the Bureau afterward.”

Shion swallowed. He didn’t want to remember that moment. Not just because it was terrifying. It disturbed him to think of Yamase like that. Shion’s elbow throbbed, and his neck still burned with the phantom sensation of Yamase’s fingers. He had always known his coworker to be a harmless, good-natured man. But that man had been destroyed in a matter of a few unseen minutes. It was one thing to hear about the stricken, it was another to have known one of its victims.

_ He didn’t _look _like a corpse, though._The creatures were wrinkled and decrepit, and it took forty-eight hours for them to turn that way. You could watch the infection claim them, but Yamase had only been feeling under the weather the past few days. He showed none of the classic symptoms. One second he was fine, and the next he had turned, with barely any changes to his physique.

_ How? _ _Why did it happen that way? And how did he get infected?_

Shion couldn’t answer any of those questions now, and he would never get the chance to if he didn’t escape the Security Bureau, but the mystery carved a hole in the back of his mind and fear was starting to seep into the crevices. Something horrible was beginning.

“How are you feeling?”

Shion snapped back to the present. “Fine,” he said slowly. “Why?”

“You were attacked by a zombie a few hours ago. I hope I don’t have to spell out why I’m asking.”

“Oh…” Shion bit his lip. “I’m fine. I wasn’t bitten.”

“Mm.” Nezumi’s eyes raked over him, and Shion thought he caught an element of relief in their depths. “This way.” He waved them forward, and Shion saw the silhouette of something in the gloom: a small transport vehicle.

“Is that… the Park Administration’s?” he asked. He could see the outline of Ippo in the back of the truck. It blinked its sensors at him, as if in greeting.

“It was the only thing I could drive without an authorization chip,” Nezumi said, hopping into the driver side. “These battery operated cars have their perks.”

Shion climbed in on the passenger side. The seat was built for maximum occupancy, so the front was just one long bench. He buckled his seatbelt immediately, his last car ride with Nezumi still fresh in his mind. They pulled out onto the road, lights off, and silent but for the soft purr of the battery.

The moon hung in a brilliant semi-circle overhead. Still, Shion couldn’t see much in the darkness. He had to trust that Nezumi knew where he was going, which he did seem to.

He peered at the other teen out of the corner of his eye. Nezumi’s dark hair was shorter now, just skimming the edge of his ears. His face had lost the soft roundness of youth, but his features were still as graceful as ever. Shion traced his way from Nezumi’s jaw to the elegant slope of his nose and ended, as always, on his eyes. Their color was as sharp and dazzling as he remembered. They seemed to pull in whatever light was around and turn it liquid. Even though he wasn’t looking into Nezumi’s eyes straight on, Shion still felt a little off-kilter.

“I know I’m attractive,” Nezumi said, “but your stare is beginning to feel hungry.”

Shion flushed and redirected his gaze to his lap. “I was just…” He cleared his throat. “You got taller.”

Nezumi smirked. “5'10".” He glanced over and gave Shion such an appraising look that he felt like squirming away. “What are you, 5'7"?”

Shion crossed his arms. “…And a half.”

Nezumi snorted and released him from scrutiny. “My height’s not all that’s changed. I’m a far cry from the boy who climbed through your window.”

“A lot has changed since four years ago...”

“I’ll say. Now you’re the criminal. Although I’m happy to say you won't be requiring any stitches.”

Shion smiled. He knew it was weird—there was nothing funny about this situation—but he couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic talking with Nezumi.

Nezumi glanced at him again. “You’re handling this pretty well, all things considered.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No. You were always weirdly cavalier. But I think I should remind you that this rescue includes escaping into zombie-infested territory.”

Shion stopped smiling. “Thank you for that.”

“Don’t worry,” Nezumi said, and a weird little smile of his own slipped onto his face. “By the time we get out of here, you won’t smell appetizing.”

Shion didn’t have to ask what he meant, because he could see what was ahead: a waste disposal plant. The waste plants existed just outside the city itself, crammed between an inner ring of gates and the outer wall. He hadn’t even realized they’d passed through the checkpoint. They shouldn’t have been able to without an authorization chip.

_ But then… _Shion turned and looked at Ippo. Its sensors winked and whirled as it tried to scan the objects streaming past the car. _That’s right. Ippo has one, and since this is the waste disposal plant, it wouldn’t set off any alarms. Nezumi thought of everything._

Nezumi pulled up alongside the colossal grey building and switched the car off. They exited and the vehicle started itself again and began to return to the Park Administration. Shion gave Ippo a half-hearted wave as it receded into the distance. Nezumi raised an eyebrow, but whatever pithy remark he was going to make stayed on his tongue, because the next moment, the air vibrated with an explosion. Shion gawked at the grey smoke billowing from the back of the upended transport vehicle. Ippo had been obliterated as soon as he met the gate.

“The Security Bureau caught on to our trick,” Nezumi grumbled. “I’m guessing all the gates have kill orders now. There’s no getting back in.”

Shion felt dizzy. Ippo was gone. Yamase, Sanpo, and now Ippo. One by one the pieces of the life he had scraped together were being wiped out.

_ I can never go back_, he realized, and for the first time, it felt real. A wave of nausea washed over him. His legs felt so weak he thought he might crumple to the ground.

“Let’s go.” Nezumi grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the building.

Once inside, he broke into a run, and Shion struggled to keep up. They entered the main processing area and Shion’s thoughts were pounded to a pulp beneath the deafening noise of the machines. His heart was beating so fast it was a fevered buzz in his chest. Nezumi pulled him around the edge of a pipe and pelted down a grimy strip toward an enormous funnel-shaped machine.

“Nezumi, slow down. You’re hurting my arm.”

Nezumi clicked his tongue, but he did not slow down and he did not loosen his grip.

“Nezumi.”

“Less talking, more running. The Bureau will be right behind us.”

“I know, but—” Shion slipped on a patch of wastewater and barely recovered himself before he was yanked forward again. Shion grit his teeth. “Just stop for a second! I need to think!” He planted his feet and tore his wrist out of Nezumi’s hand.

No sooner had he sucked in a few breaths of noxious air than was he yanked forward by the collar of his shirt. Nezumi’s eyes flashed dangerously inches from his own.

“You don't have time to _think_, Shion,” he hissed over the roar of machinery. “You have to _act. _This isn’t No. 6. You don’t get to take it easy. You don’t have the luxury of stopping anymore. Whatever ‘hardships’ you think you’ve endured these past four years are child’s play compared to the Correctional Facility, and even that’s nothing to what lays beyond the wall.”

He shoved Shion back, and this time Shion couldn’t stop his feet from sliding out from under him.

“I have to deal with enough shit as it is,” Nezumi sneered. “I don’t have time to babysit a useless little boy. Grow up or stay here and wait for the Bureau to find you.”

Shion stared up at Nezumi from the floor. He felt the grime beneath his hands, and the wastewater seeping into the fabric of his uniform.

_ He’s right_. _I have to pull myself together. _Shion didn’t choose this path, but now that he was on it, he owed it to himself to finish it properly.

Shion got to his feet, wiped his palms off on his pants, and looked Nezumi in the eye. “What next?”

Nezumi narrowed his eyes and threw a pair of goggles at him. Shion looked at them in bewilderment.

“I hope you can swim,” Nezumi said, and turned toward the staircase near the edge of the funnel-shaped machine.

They were in the bowels of the plant now, and the acrid smell was strong enough to make Shion gag. A river of waste flowed through a narrow canal beside them, the murky byproduct of converting trash to fuel, and the floor grew filthier the farther they journeyed. Eventually, Nezumi stopped at the lip of the canal and pointed at the brown water.

“We’re going in that?”

“Make sure your goggles are on tight. And whatever you do, don't drink the water. It’s murder on the stomach.”

“I don’t need to be told that. I’m not a child.” Shion strapped the goggles on and adjusted them until they fit snugly.

A smile flitted across Nezumi’s face. Just as the sounds of footsteps echoed from above, he disappeared beneath the water, Shion right on his heels.


	7. Waiting for the Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F bombs in this chapter, in case that bothers you

The passage through the sewer water reminded Shion of one of his reoccurring nightmares. In it, he was standing in a wide-open space blanketed in a grey haze. The stench of decay was heavy in the air, coating his nostrils and filling his throat. He knew he was outside the wall, he knew that there were stricken all around him, but he couldn’t move. He just stood there in the rot, waiting for the inevitable.

He felt like that now. The scent of sewage leaked into his nose even though he held his breath, and there was no way to dislodge it. The savage current under the water drew his body this way and that as he swam. Between trying to follow Nezumi in the putrid mire and the constant pressure in his chest telling him to _ breathe_, Shion felt helpless.

Just ahead, he could see Nezumi hanging on to a handle in the wall. Shion struggled closer, and noticed that Nezumi looked just as uncomfortable and strained as he did. He gestured to the handle, and Shion took hold. It turned easily, and when it swung open, Shion’s hold on his breath broke.

They were sucked into the hole and sent tumbling through an adjoining channel. For several agonizing moments, Shion was certain he would drown, but then he landed with a hard jolt on solid ground.

He coughed the wastewater out of his lungs and continued coughing until his throat felt raw. His head spun. His chest burned. But he was alive. The relief was so overwhelming that Shion took a moment to lie unmoving on the rough stone floor and revel in it.

Nezumi was already up next to him. He could hear him catching his breath. Shion lifted his head and got a splattering of dirty water in his face as Nezumi shook his hair out.

“Not my fault you’re sleeping on the job,” Nezumi said when Shion glared at him. “Up you go. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Shion felt nauseated, but he pushed himself up. “We’re in West Block now?”

“Picturesque, isn’t it?” Nezumi swept his arm out as if he were giving a grand tour.

They were in a concrete tunnel. Somehow it wasn’t completely black inside, and through the gloom, Shion saw how discolored the walls were, especially around the opening they’d just been expelled from. He had no doubt that if he reached out and touched the wall, his hand would be covered in slime.

Shion stared at the puddle of filthy water on the floor and felt a curl of revulsion in the pit of his stomach. _ No. 6 did this— _ does _ this. They just dump filthy water out here. _

Nezumi forged ahead without a second glance.

Shion stared at Nezumi’s broad shoulders. He certainly had changed from the young boy Shion met four years ago. Nezumi still possessed the same quick tongue and jaunty sarcasm, but it felt like whatever vulnerabilities he had then had been worn away, leaving only sharp edges behind.

What kind of life had he been leading? Did he have anyone near him, or had he been alone all this time? There hadn’t been a day since they parted that Shion hadn’t wondered these things, and now that Nezumi was in front of him again, he wanted to know the answers more than ever.

“Why did you come for me?”

Nezumi paused and turned an inscrutable expression on him. “What do you mean?”

Shion felt his face redden. He hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. “It’s really dangerous for you to sneak into No. 6. You were shot last time. But you came anyway… And I was wondering…” Shion twisted the cuffs of his shirtsleeves as he struggled to the point. “Have you been keeping watch on me all this time?”

“Is that what you’re paranoid about? Relax, I have better things to do than stalk you.”

Shion’s brows drew together. “But then, how did your mouse show up today of all days? It can’t be a coincidence.”

“Believe it or not, there is such a thing as coincidence.” Nezumi shrugged and turned away. “And as for why I came for you, I owe you a debt.”

Shion walked quickly to catch up to him. “A debt?”

“You saved me, so I returned the favor. That’s all it was.”

“Oh…”

“You sound disappointed. What did you want my reason to be?”

“I don’t know…” Shion mumbled. “Something.”

Nezumi breathed a laugh. “Something. You’re not very good with words, are you?”

Shion didn’t answer. A burning jolt shot up the back of his neck, and a wave of vertigo rammed into him. He felt hot all of a sudden. Feverish. He pressed the heel of his hand against his temple, hoping some pressure would relieve the pounding in his head.

Nezumi slowed to a stop beside him. “What’s wrong?” The words were a tense coil of suspicion.

Shion shook his head. “Nothing. I just… feel…”

Nezumi slapped a hand over Shion’s forehead. Shion blinked at the suddenness of the action, and when Nezumi yanked his hand away and took a full step back, Shion felt a hollow open in his chest.

“Tell me the truth,” Nezumi said, voice tight. His hand slipped behind his back. “Were you bitten?”

Shion couldn’t focus on the question. His wide eyes were fixed on the sleek black object Nezumi now gripped in his hand, hovering just below his hip. The gun was smaller and more streamlined than the Security Bureau’s clunky models. This one did not shoot tranquilizers.

“Nezumi…?”

“Were—you—bitten,” Nezumi forced through his teeth.

“I…” Shion tried to think, back to the moment when Yamase was pressing down on him, straining to sink his teeth into his neck. “No. I wasn’t bitten, I swear.”

“You weren’t bled on, or spit on either?”

Shion shook his head.

“Or scratched?”

Shion’s head stopped mid-shake. _ No. _ He tried to form the word, but he could see Yamase’s bloodshot eyes staring into his, and he felt the rigid fingers digging into his skin.

A sick feeling climbed up Shion’s throat as he reached to feel the back of his neck. He felt a groove, just below his hairline, no more than a nick. But it was burning.

“It can be transferred that way?”

“_Fuck. _”

Nezumi recoiled, so quickly and far that his back pressed up against the opposite wall. He no longer tried to conceal the gun, bringing it forward so it was between them. But he didn’t raise it. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he snarled.

“I didn’t…”

Shion drew in a shaky breath. His fingers were still pressed to his neck. The cut was already dried over. It was so small. _ The assemblies never said anything about scratches! _

But that was irrelevant. Even if he had known, he couldn’t have avoided it. The infection was inside him. Would it spread quicker since the wound was closer to his brain?

_ I don’t know. _ Would he be like Yamase? Fine and then gone in an instant? _ I don’t know how long I have. _

Shion’s wide, terrified eyes watched Nezumi. He could taste the dread like bile in his mouth._ Nezumi. _ He wanted to reach out and beg him to save him again. But there was only one way to save him.

Shion took a step forward. Instantly the gun was up, aimed unerringly at Shion’s head. Nezumi’s face twisted with hatred. But that was okay; Shion knew it wasn’t directed at him. Not yet.

Shion raised his hands, palms outward. “It’s okay, Nezumi. I don’t know how much time I have. It could be days or minutes, but… I’m infected, so…” He curled his hands into fists and lowered them.

“Shion.” Nezumi’s eyes flashed wildly, but the arm holding the gun was steady. “I have to.”

“I know. I—I understand.” Shion gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry it’s like this, but… Thank you for coming for me. I’m glad we got to see each other again.”

Nezumi grit his teeth. The gun made a soft mechanical click as he tightened his grip, and Shion closed his eyes.

“_Fuck_,” Nezumi growled again, more savagely than before.

There was another, louder click, and then Shion was shoved roughly forward. His eyes flew open. Nezumi was close, glaring at him.

“Move,” Nezumi said.

“What?” Shion looked at Nezumi’s hand. He still held the gun, but it was no longer cocked. “But… I'm infected—”

“I know that,” Nezumi snapped. “I’m going to kill you. But not here.” He shoved him again. “Move.”

Shion did as he was told. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck and he shivered. He couldn’t say if it was from relief or fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no D:


	8. Maybe

They walked through the tunnel, silent but for the soft splat of their footfalls in the shallow water. Shion couldn’t stop thinking of Yamase. He couldn’t tell if his elevated heartbeat and lightheadedness were symptoms of anxiety or a sign of his change. Every time his stomach lurched, or he shivered, his pulse would ratchet up, higher and higher until Shion was half convinced he would die of heart attack before infection claimed him.

Nezumi’s presence behind him exerted an invisible pressure. A few times, Shion almost told Nezumi to leave him. But he didn’t want to be alone. It was terrifying to think of waiting in the damp, quiet tunnel for the inevitable, and worse to imagine his body wandering aimlessly through the dark after his mind had left him.

“How did it happen?” Nezumi asked after ten silent minutes of walking. “When the guy attacked you, how did it happen?”

His voice was calm, with no trace of anger or any other emotion for that matter. Shion peered back at him, but he couldn’t make out his expression.

“It was… sudden. He had been having headaches, and then… he just turned.”

Shion crossed his arms. It was a terrible thought, to be infected and never see it coming. What if Yamase had been somewhere else when the infection took over, somewhere more public? The Security Bureau wouldn’t be able to explain that away so easily.

_ Why _did_ the Security Bureau try to cover it up? If there’s been a breach, shouldn’t they let people know, or at least make some sort of investigation? How did the infection get within the wall in the first place?_

Shion slowed his pace. “Yamase wasn’t like the others. He didn’t change physically at all—I didn’t even see what was wrong until it was too late. And there didn’t seem to be any time between the transformation. He didn’t show any of the regular symptoms; he was fine and then he wasn’t.” A cold dread began to seep into his chest. He stopped and faced Nezumi. “Do you think it’s possible that the virus mutated?”

Nezumi’s grey eyes glinted in the dark. “I hope not.” He jerked his thumb toward the wall. “Ladder. Get climbing.”

Shion turned and saw that there was a rusty ladder hanging beside him. Without looking back, he began to climb. The rungs were rough against his palms, and little flakes of rust sloughed off and buried themselves between his fingers and in the wrinkles of his clothes. The air quality shifted halfway up, becoming colder, and smelling wetter.

Shion drew in breath after breath of it. He started to catalog the sensations—the rust, the air, the way the draft made the hair on his arms stand on end—and somehow, it eased his nerves. He reached the top, and barely reacted in time to keep from bumping his head on the trap door above. He gave it a hard shove and it popped open.

The sky was dark and cold. A few stars peeked out from behind the clouds, but the moon was hiding. Shion stayed just a head below the opening, listening. The only thing he heard was the whisper of the wind.

“What’s the hold up?” Nezumi said from beneath him.

Shion risked a glance at him. “Is it safe?”

“I can’t promise it’s safe,” Nezumi said, as if it were the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “But we can’t very well stay down here. If you’re going to turn, I don’t want to be on a ladder when it happens.” He prodded Shion’s leg, and Shion was relieved that the gun was nowhere to be seen.

_ It’s probably close at hand, though. And that’s a good thing_, he told himself. _I don’t want to hurt Nezumi._

“It should be fine,” Nezumi said when Shion still hadn’t moved. “We’re within West Block’s boundaries. If there were zombies nearby, you’d hear screaming.”

“That’s comforting…”

Carefully, Shion hefted himself up. A light rain misted down from the sky, and from the mass of gray clouds burgeoning in the east, this was just a preview of what was to come. The icy kiss of the droplets on his skin reminded Shion of his twelfth birthday. He wanted to close his eyes and go back, to experience the simplicity of that night again.

“How many symptoms so far?” Just like before, Nezumi betrayed none of the disgust or animosity of his first reaction. He had turned calculating.

Shion crossed his arms and looked around. The landscape was nothing but dirt with a few straggly trees scattered about. “Fever, chills, fatigue… Maybe heart palpitations. I can’t be sure.” He tried to match Nezumi’s detachment. “It’s still early, I think.”

Nezumi sneered. “Elite education my ass. You didn’t even know a scratch can cause infection.” His eyes flashed over the rocks around the trap door until he zeroed in on one. He shifted it and pulled out a gray nylon pouch from beneath. A holster. Nezumi snapped the various straps into place around his thigh.

“What a waste of four years,” he muttered, yanking the gun out of the back of his pants.

Shion’s heart sank. _It’s time._

He blinked the misty rain out of his eyes. This wasn’t a pretty or poignant place to die, but it was better than the sewer. He kept his eyes trained on the slender fingers wrapped around the gun’s grip. Nezumi’s skin looked luminously pale against the deep black metal. There was something elegant about the contrast.

Nezumi _tsk_ed in frustration. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore.” He slotted the gun into the holster. “Come on.”

Shion stared wide-eyed as Nezumi brushed by him.

“Nezumi…”

“What?”

Shion clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. His tongue stayed heavy in his mouth, and Nezumi turned away with another terse command to follow him. He set off across the plain, and Shion trailed helplessly behind him.

Nezumi didn’t turn to him once throughout the walk, but the tense set of his shoulders said he was keenly aware of everything around him, especially Shion’s movements. The gun remained an undrawn, but present thing between them.

Nezumi led them through a cluster of trees so scrawny they could barely be called a wood. The landscape on the other side was no less desolate, but there were a few buildings. The exteriors were faded, but Shion could see planks of wood and sheet metal plastered over the places the houses had worn down. Past the houses were several more long wooden barracks. Every window was boarded. The buildings were still, but it felt like he and Nezumi were being watched as they passed.

“Quit rubbernecking,” Nezumi called from ahead.

Shion lowered his eyes and hurried to catch up. The wall of No. 6 loomed ghostlike in the distance. A chill wind swept past and Shion shivered violently.

Nezumi waved him into a dilapidated warehouse and pressed a section on the wall to reveal a secret stairway. Shion stared into the dark below.

_ Why…?_ He looked at Nezumi and then the gun. Nezumi’s face remained impassive.

The concrete stairs had crumbled in places, and Shion had to pick his footing cautiously. A heavy wood door stood at the end of the descent. Nezumi reached around him and unlocked it, nudging Shion into the room. Shion shuffled inside, arms out in front of him and eyes straining. His thoughts ran wild in the face of the impenetrable blackness. A terrible suspicion filled his head that Nezumi was going to slam the door shut and lock him in.

Shion heard a soft click behind him and his heart spasmed, but the next moment, the room flooded with light. Shion squinted. When his eyes had adjusted, he couldn’t suppress a small gasp.

“Books,” he murmured.

The room was filled with them. They burst from broad floor-to-ceiling shelves, sprouted in precarious towers from the faded green carpet, and peeked out from beneath the lone bed in the corner. The only other fixture he could see was a kerosene heater.

Shion reached out and ran his hand over the spines of the nearest pile. “I’ve never seen this many.”

“Looks like your mind hasn’t gone yet.”

Shion started. The room was so crammed with books that Nezumi was barely inches from him.

“Is this your home?”

“I live here,” Nezumi answered, eyes roving over the multitude of literature, “though it’s a little too cramped to be called homey.”

Despite the comment, Nezumi sounded fond. Shion furrowed his brow.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Nezumi’s attention snapped back to him and Shion flinched. But Nezumi didn’t say anything.

Shion dropped his gaze. He didn’t want to—he _really _didn’t—but he needed to. So he tried again. “Wouldn’t it… Wouldn’t it be better to do it outside?”

“No. It’s better here.” Nezumi skirted around him and rifled between the bookcases. “If I killed you outside, the smell of blood will attract zombies. They’re like sharks.”

Nezumi yanked something long and glittering out from the bookcases and Shion’s stomach plummeted. The metal links of a chain unfurled from Nezumi’s hand and clinked dully as they hit the carpet. Shion took a step back, knocking a few books free from the pile behind him. They thumped onto the floor unnoticed.

“Where did you get that?” Shion croaked, but that wasn’t even the right question.

“My work sometimes requires restraint,” Nezumi said without an ounce of humor. The blood drained from Shion’s face, and Nezumi replied with a droll half smile. “Relax, I’m not planning to keep you as an undead pet, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“What _are_ you thinking?”

Nezumi crossed his arms and regarded him. “You were infected hours ago, but you’re still only exhibiting stage one symptoms. You should be experiencing incoherency and loss of motor function by now. But you’re not.” Nezumi’s voice turned thoughtful. “Something’s off. At this point, your symptoms indicate nothing worse than a common fever. Maybe…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Shion understood the implication well. Could it be possible? The scratch was very small—maybe it wasn’t enough to infect him. Maybe his body could fight it off in time. _Maybe…_

“It’s unlikely,” Nezumi said quickly. “But until we know for sure, this is insurance.” He jangled the chain. “Now, I’m going to have to ask you to step into the bathroom.”

Nezumi gestured to a pathway between the books and Shion obeyed. On his way, he noticed movement on the bed. Three small mice were perched on the edge of the blanket, watching him. He saw them for just a second before his view was obstructed by a bookshelf.

The bathroom was tiny and cramped like the room outside. A toilet and sink sat in one corner and a showerhead poked out of the wall on the opposite end. Nezumi kneeled and began fixing one end of the chain to the pipe beneath the shower.

“Not the comfiest, but it’s convenient. If you turn, there’ll be less mess to clean up afterwards.”

Shion stared at the rusty drain in the middle of the floor. “I see. You’ve thought this through.”

Nezumi pushed himself up. “Look at it this way: you get the shower all to yourself. You can wash the stench of sewer water off you, while I have forgo personal hygiene until I know whether or not you’re going to eat me.”

“I wouldn’t eat you even if I did turn; you already smell undead.”

The corner of Nezumi’s mouth quirked. “That’s the spirit.”

To his annoyance, Shion realized Nezumi was noticeably taller. _That’s a stupid thing to think about right now_, his mind told him, but Shion ignored it. He _might_ not die in the coming hours, and even if he was going to, he refused to agonize over it anymore. He would put off self-pity and focus on every other emotion that came along until he had drained them all dry.

Nezumi locked the chain around Shion’s waist and Shion felt his courage desert him at the cold bite of the metal links. The slack looked like enough to cross to the other side of the bathroom, but it would fall just short of the doorway.

“I’ll be checking in on you,” Nezumi said from the safety of the door. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Shion shook his head no. It had been hours since he ate, but he didn’t think he could stomach anything right now. They considered each other for moment. Then Nezumi nodded and disappeared into the other room.

Shion braced himself against the wall and slid onto the floor. The shower area had been tiled once, and although higher up the porcelain had disintegrated, several pieces were still intact near the bottom. Shion picked at them, scratching at the caulk, chiseling out crumb after gray crumb until his fingers were sore. After that he hugged his knees and sat. Waiting. He told himself he wouldn’t sink into self-pity, but without anything to distract him he couldn’t keep the thoughts away.

_ Mom…_

Had she begun to wonder where he was? Had the Bureau already come to her with their version of the truth? She wouldn’t believe them, but she would have to pretend. He wished she could believe the lies. Then she wouldn’t be driven sick with anxiety after the Bureau left her in that small house, all alone. It would be another smear on their family. She had finally been able to build herself up and make friends. Would his mother have to endure the ostracism all over again?

Tears pricked at his eyes. Shion pressed the heels of his hands against them. _Breathe. She’s fine. She’ll be fine.__Count to five and breathe._ He drew a breath in through his nose and counted. One, two, three, four—_Safu_.

Shion’s eyes opened. He never called Safu. He had never apologized or told her how much she meant to him, and she didn’t know what happened. She wouldn’t know for two years, not until it was long over, one way or another.

An anguished sound escaped his lips, but Shion stifled it in the crook of his elbow. He felt nauseated. A crawling, gnawing pain started in the pit of his stomach that he knew was a dangerous sign. His back and neck slickened with sweat, but his body felt cold. He shifted to rest his burning forehead against the wall tiles and watched the chain glisten against the blanched concrete.


	9. You Chose This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one~

He had fallen asleep crouched in the corner, but for how long, he didn’t know. When he awoke, there was a mouse sitting on his knee.

He didn’t flinch or gasp at it, even though he had never had a close encounter with a mouse before. His brain was so foggy from sleep and fever it didn’t seem all that strange. He reached a finger toward the small brown rodent and its nose twitched curiously. He tried to keep his arm still as it sniffed, but his hand kept shaking. The mouse grabbed his pointer finger with its paws and began nibbling the tip of it. The gentle nips tickled. Shion smiled softly.

A small _cheep_ sounded from the other side of the room and Shion rolled his head back against the wall to look. Two other mice were in the doorway, perched on the toe of a black boot. Shion blinked and followed the boot up until he reached a pair of mute grey eyes. Nezumi was watching him with a frown. The sight of him brought some of Shion’s clarity back.

“Nezumi.” The name came out scratchy, and Shion cleared his throat. His body protested, but after some careful maneuvering, he was able to sit himself up straight. “Good… morning?”

Nezumi nodded, then gave a single sharp whistle. The mouse on Shion’s knee hopped off and scurried over to his master. All three mice scaled Nezumi’s pant leg and settled themselves atop his shoulder.

“I brought you food,” Nezumi said. “It’s not human flesh, so don’t get too excited.”

He set a plate on the ground and slid it across the gap. It was a small sampling of bread and dried fruit. Shion nibbled at the corner of the bread, even though he still felt queasy and his mouth tasted like chalk. One of the brown mice chittered noisily. In a flash, it climbed back down and darted into the adjoining room. Nezumi cocked an eyebrow at it and then at Shion.

“You made a good impression. The mouse demands I fetch you water.” Nezumi shook his head and left the room.

Shion traded the bread for the fruit and Nezumi returned with a mug. When he set it on the floor, the brown mouse appeared again and squeaked at its comrades. Together they scooted the cup across the floor to where Shion could reach it.

Shion couldn’t help but be impressed. He took a grateful gulp of the water. It was warm, but still delicious. “Thank you,” he said to the mice. They twitched their noses, almost shyly, and scurried away. “They’re very smart.”

“They’re troublemakers.” Nezumi crossed his arms. “Feeling undead yet? You look it.”

Shion’s smile was a tinge bitter. “I feel horrible, but still human.”

“Welcome to life outside the wall.”

Shion fought past his delirium to get a better read on Nezumi. Something was different about him that morning. _Of course there is… You’re dying._

The light in Nezumi’s eyes wavered, and Shion realized he had been holding eye contact with him for a straight minute. Abruptly, Nezumi turned and left again.

Shion closed his eyes and tried to ignore the twinge in his chest, to force himself to be understanding. Nezumi had already done all he could; he shouldn’t expect more than that. He released a long sigh out of his nose and drained the rest of the mug. He was still parched.

_ Stage two_, his mind mocked him. Shion groaned quietly.

“Shion.”

Shion gasped and opened his eyes. Nezumi had crept back in and was now crouched down before him. But that wasn’t why he gasped. Nezumi had never said his name like _that_ before, and when Shion saw what Nezumi held in his hands, he felt like crying.

The silver first aid kit was in perfect condition. It looked so tiny. Shion couldn’t believe that something so small had made such a big difference in their lives.

“It’s all expired now,” Nezumi said quietly, “but I wanted to show you that I still have it.”

His voice was steady, strong where Shion was not. The words had the ring of nostalgia, but also something more powerful, as if they had been refining themselves over the years, waiting for this moment.

Nezumi placed the kit on the floor and met Shion’s dark eyes. “You saved my life four years ago. I was a stranger and you had every reason not to, but you did. I don’t think you even know what it meant when you opened that window, but I’ve never forgotten it.” Nezumi’s gaze slid away. “I didn’t know miracles like that existed until I met you. I owe you my life, and I’ve spent the last four years carrying that debt…”

Nezumi stopped there for a moment. Shion’s head pounded. He was trying not to cry, but he didn’t think he was succeeding. His chest and throat ached, but his body was already burning up from fever and misery, and he couldn’t tell if there were tears as well. He must be crying though, because Nezumi’s face was starting to blur.

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell Nezumi that that night meant everything to him too. _This is wrong. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go._

“I was too late,” Nezumi said. “But I thought you should know that much at least.”

“Nezumi…” Shion’s voice trembled. “I’m sorry.”

Nezumi shook his head. He rested a hand on the first aid kit and then moved it aside. “I can’t repay the debt I owe you, but I can make this easier.”

Shion frowned. Nezumi kneeled. He reached to his holster and unbuckled a knife from the side pocket.

“I can end it right now. I’ll make it quick.”

“Oh.”

Shion looked at the knife and felt a numbing sadness worm its way between the aches and pain. He was exhausted and thirsty, and he could barely muster the energy to hold a conversation, but even so…

“No. I won’t make you do that.”

“It’s the only thing I can do for you. It’s better this way, Shion, believe me. You won’t have to suffer.”

With effort, Shion shook his head. “If you want to do something, then… Just… stay with me.”

A muscle tightened in Nezumi’s jaw. “You want me to watch?”

“I—I don’t want to be alone.”

“Why?” Nezumi’s voice darkened. “If you’re scared, we should just stop here. Wouldn’t you rather die as yourself?”

“There still might be a chance…”

“There isn’t a chance, Shion. Look at you. You’re going to die, and it’s only going to get worse until then. And you still want to go through it?”

Shion slumped against the wall and stared back at him. The grey in Nezumi’s eyes was stormy and he wanted to memorize the emotions behind it. It seemed important somehow. The quiet rage swirling in their depths soothed him, even as it broke his heart.

Nezumi scowled. “Fine. That’s your decision. But I’m not going to watch.” He didn’t bother sheathing the knife. He snatched the first aid kit and went to the doorway.

“Nezumi.” The word was a choke. The underside of Shion’s chin prickled where tears clung to it before sinking impotently into the fabric of his shirt.

Nezumi hovered by the edge of the doorframe. “Remember you chose this,” he growled, and left Shion for the third time and final time.

Shion remembered. He remembered when the fever and headache grew so violent that he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He remembered as he curled on his side on the concrete floor, shivering and retching and sweating through his clothes. He never forgot it, even as blackness closed around his mind and his body ceased to fight.


	10. Certain Undeath

Shion’s consciousness came back in vague spurts, so slowly that he hardly knew whether he was awake or dreaming for several minutes. He laid very still, eyes sealed shut and body melded to the floor. Once he realized he was waking, he started small: wiggling a toe, then a finger, drawing in a deep, smooth breath. It felt a little like he was a machine running a systems check before reboot. His joints felt stiff, but his body responded as commanded.

_ I’m alive_.

The realization leant him the strength to drag himself out of his stupor. His eyes creaked open and peeked at the bumpy expanse of concrete. The floor was cool and he felt the grainy texture digging into his cheek.

Gingerly, Shion peeled himself off the floor and settled into a sitting position. His clothes were damp, and at first he thought it was from sweating, but he saw water standing around the rim of the drain, and he had a hazy recollection of vomiting and clumsily trying to wash it away.

Shion flushed. He couldn’t believe that he was here, still able to remember last night and feel ashamed.

_ What happened? Is… it over?_ He felt dirty and disoriented, but definitely himself. Shion touched his face. The skin was smooth and firm, as it had always been. The nausea and the headache had faded. His body still ached, but it wasn’t the bruised type of hurt from before. And he had an appetite again.

Somehow, he had survived.

_ Nezumi_.

Shion wanted to tell him, but when he turned toward the doorway Nezumi was already there, back against the doorframe, legs curled in, forehead resting against the tops of his knees.

Shion’s chest warmed. He watched for a few moments, but Nezumi appeared to be dozing, so Shion decided to scoot across the floor to wake him. The chain rattled against the concrete with a guttural hiss as he moved. Nezumi shifted in his sleep, and Shion halted a little more than an arm’s length from the doorway. He couldn’t see it before, but Nezumi was holding his knife in his hand.

_ Maybe I should wake him up from here, just in case._

This turned out to be the correct decision.

Shion called Nezumi’s name and he woke instantly. The moment he registered that Shion was awake and close to him, he sprang to his feet. Shion had all of half a second to be impressed at Nezumi’s agility before the knife was between them.

Shion scrambled backwards and threw his hands out. “I’m not a zombie!”

Nezumi flinched.

“I didn’t turn,” Shion blurted, trading looks between Nezumi’s shocked face and the twinkling edge of the knife. “It’s still me. And— And I feel better now.”

Nezumi’s face contorted into what was either disbelief or deep agitation. Possibly both. Shion kept his hands out and eyes wide, desperately trying to look human enough to get Nezumi to lower the knife.

After an agonizing pause: “…You feel better.”

Shion nodded vigorously. Nezumi’s eyes narrowed, and the confusion on his face morphed into consideration.

“You don’t feel different?”

“No… I’m still tired, but I don’t feel sick anymore. I didn’t change.”

Nezumi’s eyebrow arched a bit. “That’s… not entirely true. Might want to check your hair.”

Shion swung his head around, but there wasn’t a mirror anywhere in the room and none of the puddles on the floor were large enough to check his reflection. He buried a hand in his hair and pulled a few strands loose from his bangs. What came away looked like spider silk, very fine, soft, and stark white. Shion stared at the strands. Somehow his dark brown hair had bleached itself overnight.

_ It’s just like the infected. But I’m fine, so why…?_ Shion’s head spun and he was glad he was already sitting. He shook the hairs from his hand and pulled another few out, but they were the same.

“Slow down, you’re going to pluck yourself bald. Your head isn’t the right shape for that.” Nezumi had finally retired the knife and stepped into the bathroom.

“I don’t understand. How—”

Nezumi’s fingers grazed his neck, and Shion went still. Nezumi tilted his head. “You have a scar too.”

Shion reached up and felt the spot. A band of raised skin, about two centimeters wide, snaked its way up the side of his neck, and he followed it until it curled down the collar of his shirt. He couldn’t be sure how far it went, but his body didn’t feel any different.

“Of course.”

Shion looked up. Nezumi’s shoulders were shaking. He was laughing, silently at first, but it progressed quickly into audible tones. Shion shifted awkwardly. It wasn’t a particularly humorous sound. In fact, it sounded manic.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” Nezumi chuckled, “but _you_ are, apparently. I mean, this is just—” His laughter trailed off and he looked at Shion with bemusement. “You are something else. You didn’t happen to make a pact with a devil, did you?”

Shion frowned back at him. Nezumi shook his head and pulled a small key from his pocket. The chain fell away from Shion’s waist, and Shion could breathe again. He had survived. He was safe.

“Just let me know if you feel a relapse coming on,” Nezumi said, and extended a hand. Shion took it gratefully and Nezumi hefted him to his feet.

Shion looked around the miniscule bathroom. “What now?”

“You just survived certain undeath—what do you want to do?”

“Eat.”

Nezumi chuckled. “A man of simple desires. Right this way.”

Shion followed him down the same book-laden corridor as before, but now that he didn’t have the probability of infection hanging over his head, he could finally appreciate the cluttered aesthetic of the house.

“Here, catch.” Nezumi tossed him an apple just as Shion exited the bookshelves. Shion caught the fruit reflexively. “That’s a premium item, so you better eat all of it,” Nezumi warned, plopping down on the bed.

Shion couldn’t tell if he was joking, but one thought to where he was convinced him Nezumi wasn’t. He perched himself on the edge of the bed and bit into the apple. The flesh was sweet and juicy, and Shion had halfway devoured it before he realized.

“You eat like a zombie,” Nezumi sneered. “Absolutely no manners.”

Nezumi yanked a towel out from between the bed and the wall. Shion mumbled an apology and reached to take it, but Nezumi hugged it to his chest.

“This is my towel, not a napkin. _Someone_ has been hogging the bathroom for two days and I need an actual shower, stat.”

Shion hunched his shoulders and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. Come to think of it, he could use a shower as well after everything he went through. He hadn’t had a chance to make use of the bathroom properly, other than to clear his sick away.

Nezumi sniffed the shirt he wore and wrinkled his nose. He yanked his shirt over his head and reached behind Shion to grab a fresh one from the pile of clothes there.

“You know,” Shion said, “if you organized these books, you’d probably have more room for your things.”

“You know,” Nezumi said, picking up a shirt and casting it away with a look of distaste, “I thought about that, but then I remembered I don’t care.”

Shion snorted and glanced over at him. “Oh!”

“What?” Nezumi halted and turned to him.

“Your shoulder. It scarred over well.” Shion looked proudly at the thin slice of pink, remembering how nervous he had been to try stitches for the first time.

“Oh, _that_.” Nezumi stood up with a bundle of clothes in his arms. “Every time I see it, I get chills, remembering the sadistic grin you wore while you stabbed me with a needle. Thank you for reminding me.”

“I did not grin sadistically. And I did a good job! You can barely see the scar.”

“Yeah, sure. Sit tight for a few minutes. And please, try not to drip apple juice on the bed.”

Shion polished off the rest of the apple as the shower ran in the background. The mice poked their heads out from under Nezumi’s pillow and squeaked at him.

“Oh, hey. You guys want the core? I think apples are okay for mice…”

He placed the remains of the apple on the carpet. The mice hopped off the bed and chewed on it, squeaking intermittently. Shion grinned.

“Thank you for the water before,” he said to the group.

One of the brown mice glanced up at him, and he couldn’t help but feel there was an uncommon intelligence in its grape-colored eyes. This same mouse took a few more bites from the apple, and then abandoned eating to climb Shion’s pant leg.

_ Cheep cheep._

It waved its little paws and Shion felt a surge of affection. He rubbed the mouse between the ears with his finger, and it closed its eyes, contented.

“You’re a sweet little guy. You are a male mouse, right?” The mouse, of course, did not answer, but Shion felt like his feeling was correct. “I wonder what your name is.”

“It doesn’t have a name. It’s a mouse.”

Shion turned to see Nezumi drying his hair with the towel.

“I think he’d like a name, though,” Shion mused. He considered the mouse. “It’d be easier to keep track of them, too, if they had names.”

The other two mice had finished eating and stared up at him. Shion looked back and forth between all three, from brown, to black, to lighter brown.

“I’ll think of something.”

Nezumi harrumphed. “Don’t waste your energy on useless things like that.” He threw the towel at Shion’s face, and unfortunately, Shion’s reflexes weren’t quick enough to catch this time.

“You can wash up, if you want. There’s just the one towel, but I left clothes in there for you. The pants might be a bit long, though.”

Shion leered at him and Nezumi responded with a smug smile.

Although he wasn’t too excited to be back in the bathroom so soon, Shion had to admit it felt great to rinse away the dirt and grime of the past few days. He felt brand new when he was finished.

Before he dressed, he checked his body to assess just how far the scar went. Everywhere was the answer. The red band started at his left ankle, wound its way up his leg, stretched over his groin and torso, and disappeared beneath his arm to end at his neck.

Shion pressed a finger to the length of crimson on his chest. He had no idea what could have caused the scar, but it didn’t hurt and it didn’t seem to be affecting him adversely.

_ Weird,_ he thought as he pulled on his clean clothing and dropped the dirty articles with Nezumi’s by the sink. The whole situation was strange. How had he survived, and why did some of his physiology change, but not other parts?

Nezumi was lounging on the bed when he came out. He took one look at the rolled cuffs of the pants and grinned. In an act of saintly forbearance, Shion ignored the smug look and sat at Nezumi’s feet.

“What do you think happened? Why didn’t I change?”

“I don’t know.” The frown on Nezumi’s face mirrored Shion’s own. He sat up and pulled his legs in. “It looked like you were going to. You were showing all the usual symptoms near the end.”

“Yeah, I know… But Yamase wasn’t showing the symptoms. Unless he was and I didn’t notice? But I don’t think so.”

“And then there’s your hair.” Nezumi flicked Shion’s snowy locks. “And the scar. The scar is new, but a lot of zombies’ hair loses its color or falls out completely. But you said your friend’s hair didn’t change, and you caught the infection from him.”

“Right… But his hair did fall out.” Shion suppressed a shiver at the memory. “Maybe Yamase’s would’ve changed, given time?” He mussed his bangs and sighed. “I don’t know. This is the first I’ve heard of someone surviving. Have you ever heard of something like this?”

Nezumi shrugged. “You’re alive. That’s the only thing that matters. White hair and a scar are a small price to pay for survival, if you ask me.”

“I know, but I can’t help but think... Wait. If I survived, doesn’t that make me immune?”

“I wouldn’t get too excited. Zombism could be like the common cold, for all we know. You caught the fancy No. 6 strain, but I wouldn’t go getting bitten by any West Block zombies. The white hair is a lot less pretty on them.”

“Of course not, I know that, but, if I’m immune somehow…” Shion’s heart started pounding. “Nezumi, we could make a vaccine.”

Nezumi stared blankly back at him, but Shion was too excited to notice. He hopped to his feet and began pacing around the small space.

“We’d just need a lab and a sample of my blood, and we could create a serum. We could cure everyone! Or—or at least prevent others from ever getting infected. We could inoculate them all!”

“That won’t work.”

Shion stopped pacing, and he finally registered Nezumi’s lack of enthusiasm. “What do you mean? It would. They’ve done it with loads of diseases.”

“That’s not the problem. Problem is, No. 6 already has a vaccine.”


	11. Memories and Longings

Shion’s ears buzzed. He couldn’t have heard that right. He couldn’t have.

“What?”

“Oh, yeah. They’ve had a vaccine for… almost a decade now? So you see how your plan falls apart. If you go up to the wall raving about how your blood is the key to saving humanity, the only thing you’re going to get is a bullet in the head.”

Shion shook his head once, and then again as he absorbed what Nezumi was saying. “No. They can’t have one. They wouldn’t… If they had a vaccine, we would know about it.” He kneaded his forehead. “Who told you No. 6 has a vaccine?”

“It doesn’t matter who told me. What matters is that it’s true. No. 6 doesn’t want to cure anyone; they like things just the way they are, nice and controlled inside their pretty white walls.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would No. 6 find a cure and then not say anything about it? They want to eradicate the infection.”

Nezumi exhaled noisily and Shion felt a twinge of annoyance.

“You’re not listening to me. Status quo, Shion, ever hear the phrase? As long as everyone inside the wall stays comfy and ignorant, and everyone outside the wall remains dead—or as good as dead—the bigwigs in No. 6 live like gods. They have their own little utopia to reign over. But that all dissolves if people think they could cure the disease and retake the world. Very bad business for the power-hungry politicians.”

“No… That can’t be it…”

It didn’t make sense. How could someone even compare power to salvation? Even those in the government and the Security Bureau had loved ones they would want to save. It wasn’t rational to hide something as momentous as a vaccine. That wasn’t how humans operated.

Shion clenched his fists. “I don’t believe you. You couldn’t know something like that.”

Nezumi’s grey eyes burned with the cool flash of a knife’s edge. “That’s right.” He leaned back. “I’m just a rat from outside the wall. I couldn’t possibly know what goes on inside the oh-so-holy Quarantine Zone No. 6.”

Nezumi’s smirk was cutting. “Go ask them yourself, then. If you don’t want to be alone, I’ll come and watch the snipers splatter your lifesaving blood all over the dirt.”

Shion scowled. “You’re horrible.”

“That’s the best you can come up with?”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore. I need to think.”

“Fine. You do that. But the bed is mine.” Nezumi plucked a book off the nearest pile and splayed out over the cot, facing the wall.

_ What is he, four years old?_

Shion snatched a book randomly from the bookshelf and parked himself in front of the door. The book he had chosen was a dictionary, but Shion was livid, so he sped through every word and definition through the D-section. His anger fizzled after that, and after a half hour, it became too tiring to keep it up.

How could No. 6 have a cure? And how could Nezumi be so sure about it? Shion wanted to disregard him, but Nezumi had proven wrong things Shion had taken as truth before. People were alive outside the wall, despite what the government said. Could the government have also lied about developing a vaccine?

Shion didn’t know what to believe anymore. Every time he saw Nezumi, his world tilted sideways and everything he thought he knew was swept into the mire of doubt. Shion closed the dictionary with a sigh and cast his gaze around.

Despite Nezumi’s scoffing, Shion liked the house, and would definitely consider it a “home.” Since it was several feet underground, it was cool, but not uncomfortably so, which would be a benefit in the coming winter. The room was sparse, but it looked well lived in, and it had personality. It was clean for the most part, and the books looked to be in good condition. It only lacked organization.

The room told Shion more about Nezumi at a glance than Nezumi himself had told him in the last few days.

_ Granted, I was half-dead for most of that, but still…_

Shion pouted. He could count all the straight answers the other teen had given him on one hand. Had Nezumi always been this closed off? Shion hadn’t remembered him like that, but he realized as he thought back to their first meeting that Nezumi had been prickly and elusive from the start. Shion had thought it was just the stressful situation of being shot and in dangerous territory, but brusque appeared to be Nezumi’s default.

_ I guess this is what it means to romanticize something._

But he wasn’t disappointed to discover his memory of Nezumi’s personality was flawed. No one was perfect, and Shion wouldn’t be surprised if Nezumi was experiencing a similar bout of disillusionment regarding Shion. Despite his gruffness, he felt that Nezumi’s true character was not so far from the vulnerable child he met four years ago.

_ I just have to be patient, and he’ll come out of his shell eventually._

Shion wedged the dictionary into the nearest bookshelf and scanned the room for the mice. He thought he might spend some time with the rodents so he could figure out what names would suit them, but they had disappeared. The apple lay nibbled and browning on the floor where they’d left it. Shion was still a bit hungry, but he thought it might be bad form to ask for anything more. He knew very little about West Block culture, but it was safe to assume it was a limited existence.

_ I’ll have to get used to things here._ Things like hunger, and thirst, and cold. Things he never had to suffer in the comfy confines of No. 6. He had known this on a superficial level, of course, but it was starting to sink in more and more as he sat there. He lived in West Block now, and there was absolutely no chance of ever returning to No. 6. That kept him safe from the Security Bureau, but he would never see Safu or his mother again.

Shion bit his lip. They were strong women and he knew he didn’t need to worry about them, but he felt sick when he thought about the suddenness of his disappearance. They would have to live forever with the chasm of unknowing.

Shion stared at Nezumi’s back. He had barely moved since their tiff. Shion pushed himself to his feet and approached.

“Are you asleep?”

Nezumi twisted around and peered at him from the corner of his eye. “What do you want?” He didn’t look angry anymore either.

“Nothing.”

“Mm,” Nezumi hummed doubtfully.

Shion cleared his throat. “Where are the mice?”

“How should I know? They come and go as they please.”

“Oh… Do you have any of your robot mice around?”

Nezumi rolled over and raised an eyebrow. “What’s with this sudden mouse obsession?”

“I want to see how they work.”

“Of course you do,” Nezumi said drily, but he got up and brought out what looked like a small gray mouse.

Shion took it from him and inspected it. It was light, but still heavier than the real mice. Its fur was rougher as well—obviously synthetic now that he had the real thing to compare it to. Holding it in his hands, there was no way he would mistake the robot for a living, breathing mouse, but he remembered how lifelike they seemed when they sprang onto the Bureau officers.

“Amazing,” Shion breathed. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

“Unlike somebody, I’ve been busy these past four years. I picked up some useful skills along the way.”

Nezumi pressed the mouse and it jerked to life in Shion’s hands. He flinched at the sudden transformation, and watched as it clambered over the side of his hand and dropped to the floor to land perfectly on its feet. The engineering was superb.

“Where do you get the parts to make them?” Shion followed the robot’s trek across the carpet until it disappeared under the bed. “They look expensive. Do you code them yourself?” Shion searched for a computer, but there were only books as far as the eye could see.

Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m just curious. I don’t think my questions are unreasonable.”

“You’re too curious for your own good. You don’t need to know everything about everything.”

Shion inhaled sharply, but snapped his mouth closed at the last second. “I don’t want to fight again,” he said levelly. “I’m just interested in what you do. You always speak like you know more than me, but you never actually explain what you mean.”

Nezumi’s mouth curled at the corner and Shion knew he had not successfully avoided the fight. “You’re really pushing it today. If I knew you were this nosy, I wouldn’t have come to get you at all.”

“Well, it’s too late now. You’re stuck with me. And I’m not being nosy; I’m being a normal human being. It’s normal to want to know things about other people, especially when you’re living with them.”

“Who said you’re living here? I just let you stay to make sure you weren’t going to turn into a flesh-eating monster.”

Shion huffed. “Okay, never mind. I’ll stop asking so many questions. But I don’t understand why you’re being so defensive. What are you afraid of?”

“It’s not about being afraid, Shion, it’s about boundaries. I know you’re used to being pampered and having everything go your way, but that’s not how things work out here. There’s no time to get to know each other, and no reason for it either. It’s useless baggage. Who the hell cares what kind of person your neighbor was when he’s trying to kill you the next day? If you want something, you take it.”

Nezumi stepped forward and Shion backed away.

“And if someone’s pissing the hell out of you,” Nezumi growled, stalking closer, “you don’t ask them question after question and whine about not understanding. You do something about it.”

Shion stumbled over something on the floor and pitched backwards, but Nezumi wrenched him up by his collar. Shion winced as his back slammed into the bookcase behind him. The pressure on either side of his neck was crushing. Shion reached up and tried to pry Nezumi’s hands off, but his grip was too strong.

He met Nezumi’s icy glare. “Let go.”

“Make me.”

Shion took stock of his situation. He couldn’t beat Nezumi strength to strength.

“Back off, or I’ll bite your nose.”

A flicker of unease flashed in Nezumi’s eyes, and Shion took advantage of it. He stopped trying to pry Nezumi’s hands away and gripped his wrists tightly instead. “That’s right. I might not know as much as you, but I at least know how to defend myself.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Nezumi tried to pull back, but Shion kept hold of his wrist and followed him into the middle of the room.

“I would,” Shion said, narrowing his eyes with as much menace as he could muster. He released one of Nezumi’s wrists and slid his hand around the back of Nezumi’s neck. “I’ll bite your nose off, and then—”

Shion’s cheek exploded with pain. He fell to the floor, dizzy and tingling all over. It took him several disoriented seconds to realize Nezumi had punched him.

“That’s not funny,” Nezumi snarled.

Shion blinked up at him. Nezumi’s eyes were wide and frightened. He had never seen him look so terrified. But then Shion remembered his white hair and meandering scar, the suffering he went through the past few nights while Nezumi watched anxiously from outside.

Shion swallowed hard. “I’m sorry… You’re right. It wasn’t funny at all.”

Nezumi grit his teeth. “Never joke about biting me again, understand?”

“Okay. Sorry.” Shion put a hand to his cheek and looked down at the carpet.

Nezumi drew in a shuddering breath. Out of the corner of his eye, Shion saw Nezumi crouch down beside him.

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” Nezumi said softly. “Is your face alright?”

“It’s fine.” Shion waved him off and got carefully to his feet. “I was more surprised than hurt. I’ve never been punched before.”

Nezumi pushed himself up. “I bet. Better be careful if you ever go into town; a punch is as good as a greeting up there.”

Shion gently probed his face with his fingers. It was tender just beneath his cheekbone, and he could already feel the ugly beginnings of a bruise. “Since you punched me in the face, will you answer a question?”

Nezumi clicked his tongue. “You’re relentless.” Shion pouted and Nezumi folded his arms. “What’s your question?”

“Do you think I’ll ever see my mom again?”

“No,” Nezumi said, clipped. “It’s for the best. You can’t go back—and you don’t want her out here, do you?”

“I just wish that I could have spoken with her one last time. I wish she knew that I’m okay.” Shion dropped his hand to his side and walked over to the bed to sit. “There isn’t… There isn’t any way to contact her, is there?”

“No, and there’s no point even if we could.” Nezumi’s mouth slashed a grim line across his face. “Some advice: forget about her. Memories and longings like that will only get in the way out here. Think of yourselves as strangers from now on and you’ll both be better off.”

“That’s impossible. The more I try to avoid thinking about her, the more worried I get. Obviously, I can never go back to No. 6. I accept that. But it would be better to tell my mom I’m safe than to let her believe I’m dead or imprisoned in the Correctional Facility. If I could just tell her that, it would make it easier for her to move on, and for me, too.”

“You abandoned that life when you threw away your ID card. No… Even before that. You abandoned it the day you helped me. You can regret it all you want, but you made that decision. Quit wallowing and live with it.”

Shion glanced up at Nezumi. “I don’t regret it.”

“What?”

“Saving you. I don’t regret it at all—I never have. I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever done, actually.”

Nezumi didn’t say anything. He just screwed up his face and looked at Shion like he was annoyed but couldn’t figure out what exactly was so obnoxious. Eventually Nezumi sat down next to Shion and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Forget her, Shion,” he said again, but it was more of a sigh this time than a command. “You’re going to destroy yourself at this rate.”

Shion stared down at his hands, counting the snatches of green carpet he could see through his fingers.

Nezumi made a sound halfway between an exhale and a groan. “I’m exhausted.” He leered at Shion and shook his head. “So this is my life from now on. Question after question and fights about who knows better. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“At least you didn’t get punched in the face.”

“Heh. You seem to be adapting well enough. No hard feelings, right?”

Shion gave him a small smile and turned away. He ran a hand over the bedspread. “I’m tired, too. I’d like to sleep, if that’s okay…”

“Sure. Just leave room for me.” Nezumi stood up and stretched. “I’m going to step out for a bit.”

Shion watched him grab his coat. The door clicked softly as it locked behind Nezumi and the room fell into deep silence.

Shion’s throat constricted. He clutched the blankets and swallowed, but the tightness in his chest grew. He climbed beneath the thin covers and curled onto his side. The concrete wall blurred as the heat of his grief built, and he didn’t try to hold it back this time. Shion buried his face in the corner of the mattress, careful not to get Nezumi’s pillow wet. Maybe it was selfish, maybe he was destroying himself, but he needed this moment. Just one moment and then he promised he would be strong.

His sobs were ugly, body wracking things, and by the time he was finished, he felt congested but mollified. He wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeves and curled tighter into a ball, waiting for the exhaustion to drag him into sleep.

The door opened behind him and Shion went still. Nezumi entered the room silently, but he heard the gentle _tup_ of him laying his jacket aside. The bed dipped as he sat down.

Shion feigned sleep, but his nose was too stuffed to breathe through, and the breaths he drew in through his mouth were thick and uneven. Nezumi didn’t get underneath the covers, and he didn’t say anything. Shion squeezed his eyes shut tighter and hoped the tearstains would go unnoticed.

_Oh, red dragonfly, red dragonfly at twilight…_

Shion’s breaths stilled. He wasn’t sure what he was hearing at first, but… _Nezumi’s singing?_

_I saw you for the first time as a baby, carried on my sister’s back._

_Could it be that long ago?_

Nezumi’s voice was beautiful. Shion had never heard anything like it. It evoked images of pure, clear water and the warmth of the sun on a late spring evening. But there was something airy in it, too, and lonely, like the wind across a barren plain.

_Picking mulberries from the mountain field,_

_And our little baskets,_

_Was that all a dream?_

The song was slow, and even though it didn’t sound sad, exactly, Shion felt something move deep inside him. _I know this song_, he realized. The memory tugged at him. He could feel it there, slowly rising to the surface…

It was a nursery rhyme, a folk song from a bygone era, years and years before the world collapsed. An image came to Shion of himself as a child, very young, toddling toward his mother. Karan was singing softly under her breath as she tidied the house. Her voice was not as polished as Nezumi’s, but her melody was much warmer, as though she were singing a lullaby. She smiled when she saw him and opened her arms wide, and the world felt whole.

Shion abandoned the pretense of sleep and twisted to peek at Nezumi.

_My sister got married when she was fifteen,_

_And moved far, far away,_

_She no longer sends news to our village…_

Nezumi’s eyes were somewhere far away, as though he too was in a reverie—and perhaps he was. Nezumi had a life before he met Shion, and after, a life that Shion knew nothing about. He must have had a family. Where were they now? How long had Nezumi lived alone, so far away from the other townsfolk? Was there something outside the concrete walls of this room that used to be someone to him?

_Oh, red dragonfly, red dragonfly at twilight…_

_I see you resting there on the tip of a bamboo reed._

The last note of the song lingered in the air, and the silence afterward felt like a void. Fresh tears tracked down Shion’s cheeks, but Nezumi’s grey eyes stayed clear and solemn.

Nezumi rose to flick off the light and crawled into bed beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was originally planning to stop posting end of Oct, but the last chapter ended on a rather unsatisfying cliffhanger, so I've decided to go through Nov and then take the hiatus. I most definitely won't be posting about zombies in the holiday season in Dec, though... .-.


	12. Life in West Block

Shion ran a gloved hand through his hair, sighing at the light puff of cool air it created against his forehead. That was the last of it. After several days of hard work, he had finally managed to tidy up the small room.

There were still a few stacks of books against the walls and under the bed, but that was only because there was no room on the shelves for them. Shion actually had time enough that day to start organizing stacks against the wall to make a short bench-like arrangement, with two higher piles on either side for arm rests. In his cleaning, Shion had discovered a faded chair, so they had both that and the bed to sit on, but he thought it might be fun to construct a sort of book bench for eventual use too. Its sturdiness was still untested, though.

Shion puffed out his chest and turned to his companions with a grin. “I told Nezumi I could do it!”

The mice chittered gleefully from the bed and ran in circles.

They had taken to sitting on the periphery and watching for the past four days, so as to be out of the way while he worked. Unlike _someone,_ they had nothing but confidence in his ability, and had stood by as he cleaned, cheering him on and reminding him to stay on track whenever he got too lost in a book he was supposed to be shelving. All Nezumi gave him was a pair of gloves so he wouldn’t “break one of his manicured nails.”

Although Nezumi did look a little impressed yesterday when he came home to find most of the room cleared.

Shion rubbed his shoulders. The muscles in his back, shoulders, and arms were tight and aching from several days of grueling work—or, at least, it was grueling to Shion. Soon after he set out to whip the room into shape, he realized that he had never done anything this physical in his sixteen years of life. Sweating, sore muscles, feeling exhausted at the end of the day… These were all new experiences for him. He never once had a day when he collapsed into bed and passed out immediately, let alone a whole week. It was a little exciting.

Nezumi said he slept like the dead. Shion responded that the dead didn’t sleep, and at this Nezumi scoffed and corrected him, saying that the _undead _didn’t sleep. The truly dead, however, you could trust to stay put. It was a petty squabble of nuances, and even this was a new experience for Shion. He had never bickered with someone in earnest, and he found he enjoyed these small disagreements with Nezumi, where he could share his opinion freely and Nezumi would dish it right back.

That being said, it wasn’t Shion’s first choice to clean the room. It would be a lie to say he didn’t want it cleaned—and he was happy he did it, because it taught him some valuable lessons and he got to read a ton along the way—but he would have put it off in favor of more interesting activities. Like accompanying Nezumi into town.

Nezumi wouldn’t let him come into town with him, though. At first he said it was because Shion was still recovering. That worked for two days, even though Shion insisted he felt fine. Then Nezumi said he had to meet with someone, and the person was jumpy and it would be annoying and maybe dangerous if Shion tagged along. Today he just said, “No,” and slammed the door in Shion’s face. If he had to stay in the room another day all by himself, Shion didn’t know what he would do.

_ I could try alphabetizing the books_, he thought, but a shiver of resistance crawled down his spine. He couldn’t even think about such a thing. Unless he became desperately bored, he didn’t want to subject himself to that hell. From now on he would only shelf a book if he was returning it after a pleasure read.

Shion sighed and plopped down in the faded chair. The mice twitched their whiskers and began a round of soft squeaking.

“Hm? Do you need something?”

The mice waved their paws toward the book stack next to him.

“You want me to read? Yeah, okay. We worked hard, so we should treat ourselves.”

He grabbed the copy of _Hamlet_ off the top of the stack next to the bed and the mice relocated to the chair’s arm to see better.

Shion brushed his thumb over the cover. “When do you think Nezumi will be back?” he asked the mice. They twitched their noses and Shion nodded. “I know; he comes and goes as he pleases, just like every other rodent living here. It seems like I’m the only one who can’t. But I’m not taking no for an answer next time,” he announced.

The mice exchanged inscrutable glances with each other, and the dark brown mouse moved forward and mouthed Shion’s hand where it rested on the book in his lap.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Shion cracked it open and flipped to the page they left off at. The mouse made a soft noise and sat back with the others. Shion smiled. “I forgot how much you love this play, Hamlet. You’ve got a taste for tragedy, huh?”

In the midst of cleaning, Shion had been spitballing names for the three rodents. His first few suggestions had been met with dismissive squeaking, but he thought he had finally found ones they liked. The dark brown one he named Hamlet after his liking for Shakespeare, the light brown one was Cravat for his similar coloring to the pastry, and the black one was Tsukiyo, since he seemed to enjoy nighttime excursions.

Nezumi refused to use the names as of yet, but Shion expected a break in his mulishness soon. Particularly because the mice had stopped responding to “hey, you,” but would come immediately when Shion called for them by name.

Shion scanned the page. “Where were we…?” He followed the dialogue until he found the spot.

_HAMLET_

_We shall know by this fellow. The players cannot keep counsel._

_OPHELIA_

_Will he tell us what this show meant?_

_HAMLET_

_Ay, or any show that you will show him. Be not you ashamed to show, he’ll not shame to tell you what it means._

The door opened and Shion looked up from the play in his lap. Hamlet chirped irritably, but was ignored.

“Don’t stop on account of me,” Nezumi said, stripping off his leather gloves. “I brought dinner, I wouldn’t mind a show to go with it.” Shion pursed his lips and Nezumi laughed. “What’s with the face? You were doing well. I could hear your talk of country matters echoing down the hallway.” A lopsided smile played on Nezumi’s mouth, and Shion got the feeling he was missing a crucial joke.

Shion felt his face flush, but he pushed past it to ask, “You were gone a long time. What were you doing?”

Nezumi held up and shook the brown bag in his hand in answer. “The room looks good,” he remarked, casting his gaze about.

Shion glowed under his casual praise. “I put all the clothes between the book shelves, so it’s kind of like a closet now. The books over there are all about crafting, so it doesn’t block anything we’d want to read.”

“How thoughtful.”

Nezumi’s smile was droll, but there was genuine laughter in his eyes. Shion felt even more pleased with himself.

“That’s all, actually,” Shion said. “I’ve finished cleaning the room, so I can go out with you tomorrow.”

Nezumi snorted and crossed the room. He paused a moment to stare at the book bench, but if he was deliberating sitting on it, it only took him a second to decide against it. The bed bounced slightly as he landed.

“Go out by yourself,” Nezumi said, unpacking a piece of bread and cheese from the bag and splitting them each evenly. “I’m not going to hold your hand through everything.”

“Can I? It seemed like you didn’t want me to go outside for some reason.”

“I’m not keeping you hostage in here. You can go out whenever you want—but don’t expect me to step into the crossfire if someone mistakes your white hair for a zombie’s.”

Shion had forgotten about his hair. It was difficult to remember when he couldn’t see it. Nezumi had told him there was a mirror in one of the rooms down the hallway, but Shion wasn’t interested in looking.

In truth, he was scared to see the full extent of what the infection had done to him. But Nezumi was right: If someone saw him from far away, his bleached hair would shine like a beacon, attracting every gun on top of the wall and whatever guns were in West Block.

“We can dye your hair, if you want,” Nezumi suggested.

Shion picked at the bread and cheese Nezumi gave him. “No… I’d rather keep it.” No matter what his feelings, the white hair was part of who he was now. A badge of survival, and a possible clue as to what it was about him that allowed him to survive the ravages of the virus.

“We can just cover my hair with a hat or something. If we do that, it should be fine.”

Nezumi polished off his meager ration and lay back on the bed. “What’s so great about going outside anyway,” he mumbled. “Everyone in town is either an asshole or some variation of dead.”

“That may be, but I have to go out some time if I’m going to live here.” Shion shifted to sit cross-legged, facing Nezumi. “I don’t want to be a burden. I want to be able to help out.”

“Good. I won’t tolerate freeloaders. So how do you plan to earn your keep?”

“Uh…”

Nezumi craned his neck, grinning. “Zombie hunting? Body disposer?”

“Eh… Are those the only choices?”

Nezumi chuckled. “For a kid with no skills.”

“I have skills. Besides, zombie hunting sounds like it requires a lot of skill.”

If you had approached him a week ago, Shion would have confidently told you he had a number of useful skills. He was on track to be an ecologist when he was placed in the Gifted Curriculum, so he knew about animals and their relationships to their environment. He knew how to suture a wound. He could operate cleaning robots. But now that he was in West Block, none of that mattered or was even remotely useful.

When he had set out to organize the books, Shion realized that he knew nothing about what it was live. In No. 6 he had simply existed, coasting along on the government’s handouts. Even when he was cast out of Chronos, living never challenged him. He never had to develop any real skills, and that fact was painfully obvious when he was sitting here, back and arms aching from merely cleaning a room.

Shion pulled at his bangs and frowned at the white hair between his fingers. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Bet you’re missing your old life now.”

“I don’t miss my old life.”

_ Tch._ Nezumi sat up and plucked the hair out of Shion’s hand, tossing it aside. “Liar.”

Shion watched the strands flutter to the floor. “I don’t. I admit it was a lot… easier in No. 6. But it was also suffocating there. It felt like I was living in a thick fog, and any second I’d take a step, and my foot would fall through dead air.”

“Poetic,” Nezumi snorted.

“It felt oppressive and volatile, is what I mean. Here, though, it feels like I can breathe again.”

“Uh huh. You do realize you sound ridiculous, don’t you? How many poetry books did you get into while I was away?”

Shion sighed. “I’m not good at explaining myself. I never have been. All I’m trying to say is that I’m going to do my best to make a life in West Block.”

The look on Nezumi’s face was pitying.

“ ‘Make a life in West Block’? Do you even know what kind of place this is? Never mind—I know you don’t. But you must have heard stories about outside the wall. And you’re saying you want to make a life here?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Shion swallowed, trying to think of the right words. The obvious reason was that he had no choice but to live in West Block, but that wasn’t why he wanted to stay. Shion’s hands began to sweat, and he carefully placed the pieces of his bread and cheese aside and forced himself to look at Nezumi.

“Because you’re here.” Nezumi stared blankly back and Shion forged on before he lost his nerve. “I want to be near you, to know what you know, and experience what you do. I know I’m ignorant and naïve, but I want to learn more about the world—the real world—as you see it. I don’t want to live in the dark anymore. I can’t explain it well, but I…”

Shion’s face heated. He dropped his gaze for a second, but forced it back up to finish sincerely. “I like you. A lot.”

Nezumi looked genuinely bewildered. “You’re saying you’re attracted to me?”

Shion nodded slowly. Nezumi clicked his tongue.

“Geez. You’re even simpler than I thought. Shion, you’re not attracted to me. You’ve just become an outcast in a post-apocalyptic world. You narrowly escaped death three times in the last few days alone. You’re confusing adrenaline with romance.”

“…You think I’m experiencing transference.”

Nezumi snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

Shion’s stomach plummeted. “You’re wrong. My feelings aren’t that shallow. I’ve felt this way for a long time. Ever since we met.”

“You’re not in love with me,” Nezumi said sharply. “You don’t know anything about me. You don’t even know my name.”

“I know more than you think,” Shion said. “And it doesn't matter that I don’t know your real name. Names are just words; they’re not who you are. I like who you _are_.”

Nezumi mussed his hair and growled. “This conversation is pointless. I don’t know why I entertained it.”

“It’s not pointless, at least not to me. I’m entitled to my own feelings.”

“Entitled is exactly what you are.”

Shion clenched his jaw. “I know you’re used to keeping people at a distance, but I’m not. I’m not asking you to tell me everything; you have a right to your boundaries and your secrets. I would never ask you to give those up. But I hope you won’t fight me every time I try to talk to you. Can you give me that, at least?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if we get to know each other, you won’t be able to kill me.”

The growl of frustration died in Shion’s throat. He stared wide-eyed at the dark-haired teen across from him.

“Why would I…” Shion said slowly.

“I told you before. You don’t know what will happen tomorrow. You could be healthy one day and dead the next. Or worse than dead.” Nezumi’s lip curled. “You don’t know anything, Shion. You haven’t seen it. I don’t blame you for it, not really, but…” He gave a short, dry laugh. “Hell, you don’t know _anything_. You’re so naïve. But that’s why I’m telling you now. You can’t hesitate; you can’t let feelings get in the way. They don’t mean anything once you’re a corpse, and once the inevitable happens, they hurt more than help.

“You can try to get to know me, I can’t stop you doing that, but I won’t help you. The only thing I care about is surviving, and the only thing I want from you is a promise.” Nezumi’s grey eyes hardened and Shion went cold. “If I ever become one of those things—if I so much as get bitten, or scratched, anything—you better kill me. Immediately. If you can’t promise that, I don’t want you near me.”

Shion could feel his heart pounding in his throat. Kill Nezumi? He stared into Nezumi’s glittering eyes, taking in the pale sharpness of his face. He remembered the warmth radiating from Nezumi when they slept side by side. The person beside him was fiercely alive, and imagining him as one of those things… Shion couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

_ But if he turned… I’d have to. I’d have to honor his last wish._ He couldn’t let Nezumi become one of those things. It was perverse.

But still he couldn’t make his mouth form the promise.

“I’m going out,” Nezumi said abruptly. He got to his feet and Shion shot up after him.

“I’m coming too.”

Nezumi raised a hand to ward him off. “No, you’re not. Stay here.”

“You just said I don’t know anything!” Shion knocked Nezumi’s hand away, and cut around him to the door. “Then show me. Take me to town and help me understand. And if you think my hair’s that much of a problem, we’ll dye it.”

Nezumi stopped short, his expression rigid. He studied Shion for a few seconds, then turned sharply on his heel and rummaged around beneath the bed. Shion gripped the door handle as he marched back toward him.

“Put this on.” Nezumi whipped a bundle of fabric at his chest. The throw had a lot of force behind it, but the cloth was too light to cause any harm.

Shion stretched it out and realized it was a wool hat. His eyes widened. “Where did you get this?”

“I’ve had it laying around.”

“No, you haven’t. I cleaned under the bed a few days ago.”

Nezumi scowled. The corner of Shion’s mouth quirked. He looked down at the hat again.

“It’s purple.”

“I thought you wanted to come to town with me, not point out the obvious.”

“Asters are purple.”

Nezumi’s expression went completely sour. “Put it on your stupid head and let’s go.” He elbowed Shion out of the way and pulled the door open.


	13. Time for a Lesson

Shion shoved the hat over his hair, making sure to tuck every white tuft beneath the edges, and hurried to catch up with Nezumi. The air nipped at his face as he reached the top of the stairs. It was cold and crisp, and the ground had grown hard beneath his shoes. The sky shone blindingly blue between the strings of clouds. Shion gawked at it. He had looked at skies like this before, day after day, but it felt like he hadn't appreciated them properly before.

Shion turned back to Nezumi, whose eyes scoured the landscape around them, one hand resting atop his thigh holster. A pang shot through Shion’s chest and he searched the expanse. But he didn’t see any signs of danger. The Bureau spoke of the outside world like it was swarming with death and undead, but there were no signs of movement in any direction, save for the swaying branches when an errant gust blew.

Shion expected to find a wasteland, but there was life in the clumps of trees and low-lying brush. There were signs of damage as well. The world had been in decline for decades; the sickness was just the finishing blow. But, left to its own devices for more than a decade, the land was recovering.

A skinny black line stretched across the skyline. Shion squinted at it, but he couldn’t make out what it could be. _A fence of some sort, maybe?_

“You want to live in West Block?” Nezumi’s voice rang out, as cold and stark as the landscape around them. “Let me show you your new home.”

Shion followed him down a rocky slope, trading glances as Nezumi did between the craggy earth and his surroundings. But still he saw nothing. Not dead nor another living soul—although he did see barracks and the odd house. Perhaps the residents didn’t venture out unless absolutely necessary. Shion couldn’t blame them if that were the case.

But that wasn’t the case. After a few minutes of walking, a small town came into view, and he could hear the low hum of life. The hum became a buzz, and soon he and Nezumi were standing on the brink of a busy town.

There were shops and food stalls, and persons darting to and fro. The smells of unwashed bodies and rancid meat drifted through the air, so thick Shion felt like his skin was coated in them. Smoke seemed to emanate from every open doorway, and turning the sky dark and dirty, as if the town lived in perpetual dusk. The faces of the passerby were grim and drawn, and their eyes never stopped searching the crowd and the horizon. They cast vicious glares at anyone who stumbled too close.

A chill shot down Shion’s spine. There was a pall over this place. The town couldn’t help but produce noise, but it was evident that no one wanted to make any more sound than they could help.

Nezumi strode into the thong and Shion hurried to remain at his side. He stared at every haggard face that passed. It felt like he was walking through a crowd of sleep-deprived people. They were jumpy and irritable and spoke in mutters and rasps.

Shion caught the eye of a man without meaning to. He was leaning against the wall of a shop, his dark eyes boring into the restless masses. Shion wondered at how different this man looked from the rest; he was large and sinewy in the way that only decent diet and hard labor could produce, but how he managed to be so in such desperate conditions Shion couldn’t guess. The man leered when their gazes met, and Shion tugged the edges of the wool hat nervously.

A yank on the waistband of his pants broke the eye contact. Nezumi pulled him to his side and growled, “Stop gaping. Look ahead.”

Shion mumbled an apology and whispered back, “But where are we going?”

“The border,” Nezumi responded and lapsed again into hardened silence.

For the rest of the walk Shion kept his gaze low enough to avoid other people, but he still noticed plenty about West Block. The walls were coated in the dust and grime of decades, so that everything was either dun brown or gray or black. There was very little other color. Even the people were tanned and dirty. Shion felt a little ashamed to be walking among them, having showered the day before. Skeletal children lurked in the alleyways, their sallow faces and hungry, sunken eyes flashing in the shadows. Shion couldn’t look at them without his stomach clenching.

He was relieved when Nezumi’s path took them away from the main street. He saw less people then, and the sounds of life began to recede into the background, until it had returned to a vague hum.

Nezumi turned down a few more streets and then finally slowed his pace as they approached a fence. Though “fence,” perhaps, would not be the right word for the structure. Barricade was more fitting. There was a section of wood, connected by nails to a section of chain link, which led to a portion made from pikes. A little way down, Shion saw that a part of the enclosure was made of several old refrigerators. It was a chimera of security.

“Not as impressive as No. 6’s wall, but it does the trick,” Nezumi said blandly, and Shion could give no answer. He was simultaneously fearful of and saddened by the display.

Nezumi approached the fence with a resolute look, and stopped an arm’s length from the portion made of chain link. Shion stood beside him and looked about. He was on the point of asking why they where there when he spotted it.

On the other side of the fence, about a hundred yards out, stood a figure. It was very still, its head tilted backwards as though soaking up the sun’s rays. It looked human from that distance, but there was no mistaking what it was.

“Ever seen one up close? A real one?” Nezumi said. Shion felt his grey eyes digging into him. “No,” Nezumi continued lowly, “I suppose not. That would be too much for the delicate citizens of No. 6. They like reality to remain safely outside their walls, or on the other side of a television screen.”

Shion swallowed tightly. Even though the creature was yards away, his heart was pounding.

“Time for a lesson.” Nezumi banged on the chain link fence. Shion yelped and grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing!”

Nezumi spared him a dry glance. “Teaching you just how out of your depth you are. Look alive; it’s coming.”

Shion whipped his head around. Nezumi had only gotten two raps off on the fence before Shion stopped him, but the creature had heard. It lumbered toward them like a dog on a scent. It moved neither quickly nor slowly, and somehow its steady pace made its approach more terrifying. Shion’s heart thundered in his throat.

“Don’t run,” Nezumi said silkily.

Shion wanted to be mad at his obvious enjoyment, but there was no room in him for anger; there was only paralyzing fear. _This fence is barely held together. If that thing gets too close... If it attacks..._

Shion threw a desperate look at Nezumi’s thigh holster and was relieved to see Nezumi had unclipped his knife.

It was close enough now that Shion could make out its features. Its face was warped and sagging, as though it had melted and solidified again. One side of its mouth hung lower than the rest, revealing a row of blackened teeth. Shion wasn’t sure whether it was male or female. It had only vestiges of clothing on its bony frame, and those strips were black with dirt or what might have been offal.

Shion took a full step back when it reached the ten-foot mark, but Nezumi stood his ground, just an arms length away from the fence. Ten feet became five, and then it was right there. The creature threaded its fingers through the links and pressed its face into the metal, snuffling like a beast.

“Nezumi,” Shion croaked.

“One zombie can’t do much. They’re dumb animals, so you’d have to be a complete moron to fall victim to a single zombie.”

Shion’s breath hitched as Nezumi extended his knife and ran it along the fence with a dull _tup-tup-tup_ as it hopped over links. The creature followed the knife with its face, breathing heavily. It flicked its tongue out at the blade and Shion shuddered to see that the muscle looked hard and purplish.

“It’s when there’s a horde of them that you have something to worry about,” Nezumi said, tapping away like he was playing laser with a cat. The creature grew impatient and began to mouth the fence, its labored breathing rising into rasps and growls. “I’m sure an Elite like you knows you kill them by severing the brain stem. I—and anyone who knows what they’re doing—use a knife. The gun attracts too much attention. One bullet, and every zombie within earshot will be on you. The knife’s better. It’s quiet and more accurate.”

Shion stared into the creature’s face. The eyes were milky and dull, as though it had severe cataracts. Whenever Nezumi banged the fence, it cocked its head and moved directly to the spot without looking. A strain of pity crept into Shion’s revulsion.

“Zombies can’t see very well, but they make up for it with their sense of smell and hearing. I don't know how a rotting corpse can hear or smell at all, but for some reason no one wants to research the topic. Maybe you could take a stab at it when you make your precious blood serum.”

Nezumi twisted the knife through one of the holes in the fence and jammed the blade through the creature’s cheek. It didn’t so much as flinch when the blade pierced its skin, but just stared dumbly and chomped its teeth, tearing the wound wider and wider.

A choked sound escaped Shion’s lips. “Stop!”

“Excuse me?” Nezumi yanked the blade back and cut a hard look at him.

Shion clenched his fists at his sides. The edges of the creature’s lacerated skin were dark purple like its tongue. It was like staring into a black hole. His insides wriggled with the wrongness of it.

“Don’t…” he said, tearing his eyes away from the gash. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not right. Cutting it like that… It’s cruel.”

“Cruel?” Nezumi barked a laugh. “Shion, it’s dead. It doesn’t even feel it.”

“But it used to be a person. Treating it like this… It’s wrong.”

“So because it used to be human a decade ago, I should continue treating its rotting corpse as a human being? As if it cares about respect or dignity. There’s no dignity in this,” Nezumi growled, smacking the fence on the last word.

The creature snarled and lunged at the spot. The fence shuddered under its weight, but held. Shion recoiled, heart hammering. But no matter how afraid he was, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for it. It might only be a shadow of a human, but it still pained him to see it treated with scorn. Even animals deserved compassion—and if not that, at least forbearance.

“Just... leave it, won’t you? You said it can’t hurt us, so let’s just leave it alone.”

Nezumi sneered. “Why should I? It may not be dangerous right this second, but it’s a killer just the same. That’s not dirt on its pants, Shion. What happens if it finds a way into town and bites someone? That’s on you. Because you wanted to show a monster mercy.”

Nezumi tightened his grip on his knife and Shion thought he was going to thrust it through the fence and kill the creature. But Nezumi just clenched his jaw and glared, first at the dribbling creature, then at Shion.

“This is exactly what I mean,” spat Nezumi. “If you can’t even stomach this thing, how am I supposed to trust you? Your moral high ground does jack shit for me. You asked me what life was here. _This_ is life here. _That_,” he jabbed his knife toward the fence, “is reality, and you’re running away from it.

“Your resolve is crap. You don’t want to know the truth; you’d rather turn your face away at the first sign of discomfort than confront the truth head on. People like you disgust me.”

Nezumi scooped a rock from the ground and pricked the pad of his thumb. A bead of blood oozed out and the creature gurgled hungrily, pressing its face so hard against the fence that its sunken eyes bulged in their sockets. In one fluid movement, Nezumi smeared the blood over the rock, took a few steps back, and hurled the stone over the fence. It clattered to the ground far outside, and the moment the creature heard the sound, it cocked its head.

Nezumi smothered his bleeding thumb as the creature gave a long, deep inhale. Then, as steadily as before, it turned and moved in the direction of the stone.

Nezumi sheathed his knife and strode away from the fence, toward town. His expression was forbidding and Shion knew there was nothing he could say to fix the situation. He felt ashamed of his weakness. He had begged to know the truth and he had quailed at the sight of it. He had failed his first test.

_ I just need more time, _Shion told himself, beating back his shame and disappointment. He hoped that was all he needed to become strong enough to face the truth without flinching, to become a person Nezumi could trust and rely on.

They turned the corner. A dog was scratching around in the dirt a little distance away. Its ribs jutted out along its side, and one ear was tattered. It turned to look at them, the intact ear perked and its tail up high.

Nezumi went rigid the second he saw it. His eyes darted to Shion, and when the dog took a step forward, Nezumi stepped to the side so he was positioned in front of Shion. The dog stared, and Shion could see its black nose twitching.

The dog was obviously a stray, and Nezumi’s reaction to it told Shion it was potentially dangerous. He stood very still.

The dog sniffed the air for a long moment, and then lowered its tail a few inches. It began to creep toward them at an angle, its dark eyes steady. When it was level with them a few feet away, it gave one more decisive sniff and then turned away down an alley.

Shion released the breath he had been holding. He looked over at Nezumi, who was still tense, as though he expected the dog to return with a vengeance. He was holding his knife. Shion hadn’t noticed him take it out. The dog disappeared from sight, and, finally, Nezumi relaxed.

“What?” Shion asked, when Nezumi turned a perplexed look on him.

“Guess you’re fully healed after all,” he said, and continued walking.

“What do you mean?”

“I know that mutt. There’s stray around here that collects them. The dogs are trained specially…” Nezumi trailed off mid-explanation, frowning. His forehead creased as if he were listening hard for something.

“What is it?”

Nezumi cut a look at him. It was so sharp and calculating that Shion’s brain buzzed at him to recoil. His apprehension must have shown on his face, because Nezumi seized his wrist in a vice grip.

“Come with me.”

Shion felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as Nezumi dragged him forward. They passed through the adjacent alley into an area covered in garbage. The trash was so old its components were indistinguishable. It was a mishmash of soggy colors and ragged shapes, and smelled like mildew. A few creepers climbed the fence and draped themselves over the roofs of the houses.

Shion heard voices in the distance, high pitched and young. Nezumi drew him past a large pile of trash and through the broken door of an abandoned house. The house was dark and dank inside, but there was a medium sized hole in the far wall where light filtered in. Nezumi finally let Shion’s wrist go and crossed to the hole.

Shion stood a moment in the middle of the room, looking around. “Why are we here?”

“I had a suspicion about something. And I was right.” Nezumi motioned for him to come join him.

The opening was just large enough for both their faces to peer through, and through it Shion spotted a group of preteens, conversing in raucous tones. There were six of them, standing in a circle and laughing. One of the older boys raised a hand into the air and shouted, “Who’s next, then?”

“I’ll go!” said the only girl in the group. She skipped to the head of the circle.

The group shifted, and Shion saw that there was something on the ground in their midst. It looked like a pile of old rags, but as the girl took a decisive step forward, the mound wriggled and a terrible rattling noise emanated from it.

Shion gasped. A leathery head unfurled, clicking its teeth at the girl’s hand when she extended it. The girl snatched her hand away at the last minute, hopping back with a nervous giggle, and the rest of the kids whooped and cheered her on.

“What are they doing?” Shion whispered in horror.

Nezumi gave a minute shrug. “Playing chicken.”

The undead creature was hogtied—Shion could make out the contours of its arms and legs bent over its back. The arms were bowed at unnatural angles, likely broken, and a pang shot through Shion’s chest.

The children’s laughter rose when the girl reached forward and snatched her hand back from the creature’s jaws a second time. The girl smiled winningly and skipped back into the group.

“Next?” said the boy from before. His dark eyes scoured the group. “You,” he proclaimed, his leer falling upon the smallest member of the gathering. The boy could not have been older than ten, and he paled visibly when the older boy pointed at the head of the circle.

“M-me?” the little boy squeaked.

“You wanted to play with us, didn’t you? Go on then, it’s your turn.”

The other children sneered, and those next to the little boy jostled him forward. Shion’s stomach rolled as the boy stumbled into position and extended a shaking hand toward the hobbled creature.

“Don’t,” Nezumi said, and Shion felt a hand at his elbow. Shion had moved instinctively towards the door.

The boy had yanked his hand back from the zombie so rapidly he fell backwards. He screamed when the zombie roared and tried to lunge at him, but tied as it was, it barely moved an inch. The other children cackled.

“Nezumi, we need to stop them.”

“It’s not our business.”

“Not our business?” Shion turned to him. “This is cruel! And dangerous! They could be bitten.”

“That’s their problem. If they get bitten, they know what to do. And if not, someone will take care of them.”

“ ‘Take care of them’? As in—” Shion choked on the words. “This is stupid! Why even let it get that far?”

Angry tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. The kids continued laughing and jeering at the little boy’s attempts to approach the zombie. Shion could hear the child’s terrified whimpers whenever the creature snarled or snapped its jaws at him. How was this funny? Who would do such a thing for fun? And what kind of person would just stand by and let it happen?

“What if that were me?” The words burned Shion’s throat.

Nezumi narrowed his eyes.

“What if it was me that they were hurting? Would you stop it, or would you say it wasn’t your business anymore?”

“First of all,” Nezumi said coolly, “they’re not hurting it. The zombie is not in pain. And secondly, you know I would’ve killed you the minute you turned.”

“Why? Because you know me? That thing used to be someone—it used to mean something to someone. How do you think that person would feel if they saw this?”

Nezumi said nothing. A frown was etched onto his face, all the more disapproving under his flinty gaze. Shion trembled. Whether it was from anger, or revulsion, or helplessness, he didn't know, because the feelings within him were so rampant he could hardly think in a straight line.

“I’m not going stand here and watch this,” Shion seethed.

Nezumi scoffed and let go of him. “Then what are you going to do? Scare the kids off?” He tilted his head. “They’d probably beat your ass, but you can try. And if by some miracle you managed to win, what then? Will you put the thing out of its misery yourself?”

Shion froze.

“That’s the only thing to do with it,” Nezumi continued. “Or were you thinking you could untie it and release it back into the wild?”

“I don’t know,” Shion said, finding his voice again. “I didn't think that far, but I’m not going to let this go on.” His tone grew hotter as Nezumi’s grew colder. “Why did you show me this? What’s the point?”

“I thought you wanted to know what my life was like. Here it is, a day in the life. What? Not as glamorous as you imagined?”

Shion glared. Nezumi accepted his loathing with all the indifference of a marble statue. “Shit like this happens every day, Shion. You don’t have to approve of it, but you need to learn to tolerate it. If you go around acting like some kind of zombie rights activist you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Shion drew in a furious breath, but he didn't know yet what he would use it for. He wanted to say a hundred nasty things to Nezumi, he wanted to curse at him, or hit him—something, _anything,_ to release the pressure building in his chest.

The ringleader’s voice drifted between them. “That’s enough. I’m bored now.”

Shion glanced sideways. The children were clotted together off to one side, while the older boy hovered over the growling creature. He was holding a heavy rock, at least the size of his head.

The boy raised the rock to chest level and smiled down into the zombie’s face. “Nighty night.”

The breath left Shion’s lungs. “_NO_!”

“Shion!”

A sickening crack resounded through the air. Shion thought he might vomit at the sound alone. He was certain he would’ve vomited if he saw the moment of impact, but all he could see was black. Shion stood there a moment listening to the sound of his own breathing, waiting for the nausea to recede. Then he pulled Nezumi’s hand away from his eyes.

The ringleader and him locked gazes for several long seconds, and then the startled look on the boy’s face faded. He cocked an eyebrow at Shion and turned to leave.

“Come on,” the ringleader called.

The rest of the kids gave Shion confused and irritated looks and followed the older boy out of sight, until only the youngest boy remained. He stared at the creature’s still body a moment longer, trembling and white as a sheet. He met Shion’s eyes for a split second before bolting in the opposite direction of the group.

“I want to go home,” Shion said quietly.

The expression on Nezumi’s face wavered between several emotions. He opened his mouth to speak, but Shion brushed by him and headed for the door.


	14. No Room for Sentimentality

The rush of rain poured into the underground room. Nezumi slipped inside and swung the door shut again, restoring the noise to a muted hiss. He ruffled his hair and a few slivers of ice fluttered to the carpet.

“The weather is disgusting.”

Shion flicked his eyes up from the boiling pot in front of him and back down again. “I like the rain.”

“It’s practically sleet, and you didn’t have to run around in it.”

Shion shrugged and turned the heater off. That they could hear the sounds of the weather outside was his favorite aspect of the underground room, second only to its vast collection of literature. Shion plopped back onto the bed and watched the tendrils of steam drift off the water towards the ceiling.

“I got dried meat and bread for dinner.” Nezumi tossed a partially soggy bag onto the book bench.

“Thanks.”

“…Not sure what meat it is. The butcher said it’s goat, but I’m ninety percent sure it’s dog. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“Mm.”

Shion kept his eyes on the steaming water. Nezumi was blurred just beyond his focus, but even though he couldn’t see his expression, Shion could feel the disapproval in the air, mingling with the metallic scent of fresh rain.

“Shion.” The way Nezumi growled his name made it sound like a curse. “Don’t you think you’re being immature? How long are you going to sulk?”

Shion sighed under his breath. He wasn’t sulking. Not anymore at least.

The reality Nezumi showed him had left him feeling shocked and betrayed, and for that night and the rest of the day after he had sulked. But now… Now that he had time to think about it, about what kind of place this was and how ugly the world could be, Shion understood there were things he would just have to deal with, or ignore, or be complicit in.

He understood, but he didn’t like it.

But there was no point in telling Nezumi that. He would be laughed at or mocked, and Shion thought maybe he would deserve it too. The truth was Nezumi’s lesson that day had sunk in. Watching how the people of West Block interacted with zombies, Shion recognized just how privileged and easy his former life was. He had never been so distressed, or sad, or angry before, and now he couldn’t forget those feelings. Nezumi mistook his confusion for bitterness, and Shion was too preoccupied to bother correcting him.

He didn’t want to just accept things the way they were. Half of him felt like a selfish brat for throwing a tantrum, but the other half felt justified in its resistance.

Shion sighed again, audibly this time, and stirred the pot. He didn’t even know why he started boiling the water, since he wasn’t thirsty. It was just something to keep him occupied.

Across the room, Nezumi shifted, and Shion felt a corresponding shift in the atmosphere from annoyance to discomfort. Shion had discovered that this was typical of Nezumi. He’d be vicious one moment and awkwardly remorseful the next.

Nezumi cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. Then he perked up all of a sudden. “Oh, hey,” he said and bent down.

The change in his demeanor was so abrupt that Shion pulled his gaze from the pot to look.

“Cravat’s back,” Nezumi said.

An odd smirk played at his lips, and Shion figured it was because this was the first time he had called the mouse by the name Shion had given it. Nezumi lifted Cravat up to face level.

“Looks like he’s got a message,” he said, and the smirk became more pronounced.

Shion furrowed his brow. “A message?”

Nezumi plucked a capsule from the mouse’s mouth and popped it open. He unraveled a small slip of paper and studied it a moment. “It’s from No. 6.”

“What? From No. 6?” Shion straightened, and excitement stirred in his stomach.

“From someone named Karan.” Nezumi cast a look his way. “Know anyone by that name?”

Shion was across the room before he had finished the sentence. He snatched the sliver of paper from Nezumi’s hand.

“So lively now,” Nezumi muttered, but Shion barely heard him. He stared down at the words on the note. They were cramped and smudged as if written in a hurry.

_ Arnd LK-3000. Latch Bldg. 3F. Not sure. –K_

He stared at the sentence long after the words had sunken in. He didn’t understand what it meant, but his chest felt warm and cottony just seeing his mother’s handwriting. Shion cradled the note in his palm and looked up at Nezumi. He was standing with his arms crossed and face turned aside, as if he were really interested in the bookshelves. Cravat twitched his whiskers at Shion from Nezumi’s shoulder.

Shion beamed. “Thank you.”

Nezumi clicked his tongue. “It’s just a note, no need to get all teary-eyed about it.”

“I was talking to Cravat.”

“Oh.” Nezumi’s cheeks colored. “Right…” He glared even more resolutely at the bookshelves.

Shion laughed and threw his arms around Nezumi’s waist. Nezumi stiffened at the contact. Shion knew he would, but he hugged him tightly anyway. He was so grateful he felt dizzy.

“Thank you, Nezumi. I know it can’t have been easy. This means a lot to me.” Shion let go and took a step back before Nezumi stopped being surprised and shoved him away.

Apart from looking a shade redder, Nezumi didn’t seem as affected as Shion anticipated. Nezumi uncrossed his arms and cleared his throat, but failed to say anything disparaging about his affectionate display.

“So what does it mean?” Nezumi said after a few moments of intense frowning.

“What?”

“The note from your mama. Looks like directions somewhere.”

“Oh.” Shion studied his mother’s writing again. “I’m not sure. The ‘K’ probably stands for her first name, but she’s never mentioned Latch Building before… You called her Karan.”

“What?”

“You said the message was from Karan, but this is signed K. How do you know my mom’s name?”

Nezumi’s shoulders tensed, but he quickly smoothed the action into a shrug. “Same way I knew where to send the mouse.” Shion waited for the rest of the explanation, but Nezumi didn’t elaborate.

Shion narrowed his eyes. “So you _were _watching me.”

Nezumi grunted noncommittally and moved to the heater for a drink. “I’ll look into Latch Building. Who knows? It could be interesting.”

\-----

Nezumi waded through the main alley, knowing Shion was struggling to follow closely behind. If Shion was serious about living in West Block and refusing to be a burden, then he was going to have to learn how to walk down a crowded road without apologizing every time he clipped a shoulder or stepped on a foot. He was going to have to learn how to fend for himself. So Nezumi didn't look back, not even when he heard Shion call his name.

"Nezumi!" Shion said again, his voice higher this time, more far away and with the slightest edge of panic. Nezumi guessed there were a few people between himself and Shion now and the useless boy had lost sight of him.

Nezumi grit his teeth. He shoved his hands in his pockets, nearly tearing the papers within, and kept walking. _Hopeless, _he cursed to himself, shunting a woman from his path with his elbow._ Completely hopeless, and defenseless, and _frustrating.

It had been a mistake to bring Shion back into his life. If he had just left Shion alone in No. 6, he wouldn’t be walking around town dragging a whining ball and chain behind him.

_ If you left him in No. 6, he would be dead right now, _whispered a part of him, a deep part he thought he’d crushed long ago. Reason surged forward to silence it again. His decision to rescue Shion had nothing to do with emotions and everything to do with discharging his debt. Quid pro quo, a life for a life. By those parameters, now that Shion was safe, Nezumi had fulfilled his debt, and he could walk away without feeling beholden to him. Right?

Wrong. The debt he held towards Shion was so much bigger than that. Nezumi knew it, and it killed him a little. He had barely paid back a quarter of Shion’s unselfish kindness, especially in light of the reception he gave Shion.

_ I almost killed him._

The cold air scathed Nezumi’s throat, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of iron. Shion had been infected. He was meant to kill him the moment he discovered the truth. He should have drew Shion close and gently slit his throat, past connections be damned. Putting Shion down before the infection could claim him would have been mercy. But he hadn’t done it.

_ If I had, it would have been a mistake._

Yes. _Now _Nezumi knew that. Shion had survived, miraculously, ridiculously, against all odds. But neither of them could have predicted he would. Shion displayed all the proper symptoms near the end, and Nezumi should have done his duty and ended it. But again he hadn’t.

The truth was Nezumi _couldn’t_ kill Shion in that moment. Every cell in his body had rebelled against it. His hands shook on the trigger, his heart pounded, and every breath he drew in whispered, _no, no, no._ It was sick, to have finally rescued Shion from No. 6’s clutches, only to realize he was dying anyway. For a moment, Nezumi was a child again, powerless and scared and stomping his feet at the unfairness of it all. He knew better, but instead of following the rules he’d set down for himself, he froze, he seethed, he invited an infected person into his home to _watch_.

Nezumi’s stomach writhed at the memory. He had promised himself he would never do that again. Nezumi had watched the old woman turn. He had clung to her like a fool, even while she wasted away, even when she tried to rip him to shreds. He had been a child then, so perhaps he could blame a child’s fears. He hadn’t wanted to be left alone, so he clung to the only person he had.

He wised up in the end. He did his duty and put her down, as was right, and he swore to himself he would never repeat the mistake.

Nezumi learned a valuable lesson that day: This world had no room for sentimentality. Companionship was a passing comfort and the worst weakness one could foster. Once someone was bitten, that was it. No amount of love or prayers or hope could bring them back. The dead, no matter who they once were, deserved to be exterminated. It was the last mercy one could give them.

And yet, he brought Shion home. He watched him cry, and vomit, and waste away on his bathroom floor. Because Shion asked him to.

Nezumi hated himself for it every minute. His skin crawled with his impotence, his hypocrisy. In those final hours, Nezumi could feel something warping within him. He knew that when the moment came and he jammed the knife into Shion’s neck, he would be irrevocably changed. He welcomed it. Without Shion to remind him that the world still held a kernel of compassion, Nezumi could finally be free of all but the numbness building inside him for the last twelve years.

But then Shion had crawled back from the brink, changed but uncorrupted. 

Nezumi still couldn’t believe it. The kid was an enigma. He was beginning to think Shion wasn’t quite human, and he didn’t like that he was thinking so much about Shion. It was difficult enough to keep himself alive in West Block, and now Nezumi had to worry about the welfare of a soft, oblivious, besotted novice, and it was his own damn fault.

“Weak,” Nezumi spat at the ground, cursing himself.

“Nezu— Ah!”

Shion’s voice was faint now, but clearly more alarmed than it had been. Nezumi huffed and turned. It was easy to pick Shion’s purple hat out of the crowd, and yes, just as he suspected, he was far behind, buried in the crowd. In his fight to circumvent the masses, Shion had elected to go around them and strayed too close to the alleyway. A beginner’s move, if ever there was one.

The source of Shion’s distress was the buxom lady clinging to his arm. Shion’s face had turned the precise color of the scar wending its way around his body, and the more the woman leaned into him, pressing her barely clothed chest against his shoulder, the more flustered he became. Shion was babbling and trying to extricate himself politely, but it was this lady’s job not to take no for an answer. She curled her red lips in a seductive smile and tugged him farther into the shade of the alleyway.

_ Hmm… _This was a good lesson for Shion. And for Nezumi… It was a valuable opportunity to check something he’d been anxious to confirm.

Nezumi waited for the woman to drag Shion fully into the alleyway before he slipped his leather gloves on and went around the building abutting the alley. He found a stack of rotting crates and used them as stepping-stones to get a hold of the drainpipe. Quick and silent as a spider, he scaled the face of the building and hefted himself onto the roof. He peered over the edge of the building into the alley just in time for the part he was most interested in.

The woman had her tongue down Shion’s throat.

It was pretty gross. The whores this close to the hotel had no concept of foreplay. Quick and dirty was their MO, probably because they were used to dealing with drunks who had neither the discernment nor the potency for anything else. But even if Nezumi himself wasn’t a fan, he wasn’t about to criticize what the women had to do to make a living in this hellhole. All he needed was for the woman to swap spit with Shion, and she hopped right to it, so in this case, her expediency was a boon. And if Shion liked it…

Shion did not like it. Finally, he abandoned politeness and shoved the woman off of him. He threw a hand over his mouth, looking thoroughly scandalized.

Nezumi smirked. He moved down the length of the roof and dropped onto the rubbish heap at the end of the alleyway. By the time he sauntered over to where Shion and the woman were, the woman was throwing a hissy fit.

“You don’t have _any _money? You have _got _to be kidding me.” The woman stomped her six-inch heels into the dirt to punctuate her irritation. “Look here, no one gets service for free, so you’re gonna pay up, one way or another.”

She leered at Shion, and her face turning considering. “You’re not bad looking, I bet the boss could—”

“Forget it,” Nezumi said, stepping into the light. He grabbed Shion by the scruff of his shirt and pulled him against his side. “This one’s mine, and I don’t like to share.”

“Nezumi,” Shion murmured, relief drenching his voice. He felt Shion’s hand grasp the edge of his jacket, like a child clinging to his mother after a scare. Nezumi ignored it and smiled at the woman.

She traded glances between them. “Oh,” she muttered, and smoothed out her dress. “Figures he’d be gay.”

Shion tensed, but Nezumi pinched the back of his neck to keep him from running his big mouth.

“That’s right,” Nezumi said sweetly. “Shion here is crazy about me, and me only. You should hear the things he says in the bedroom. Wildly inarticulate, but charming nonetheless.”

Shion’s head swung toward him. “Hey—”

The woman laughed and Shion snapped his mouth closed, looking petulant.

“Well, your little pet strayed,” the woman drawled. “He indulged in some of my services, so I need payment.” She held out a hand. “One silver coin.” Her nails were painted to match her lips, but they were chipped in spots. The broken color reminded Neuzmi of blood and rust. 

“That seems a little steep,” Nezumi mused. He turned to Shion. “Was the kiss good enough for a whole silver coin?” As he asked the question, he gently thumbed a smear of lipstick away from the corner of Shion’s mouth.

“Uh…” Shion swallowed.

Nezumi turned back to the woman. “Kid says my kisses are better. But, I do have something you might be interested in.”

He pushed Shion behind him and extended a hand to the woman. Through some practiced sleight of hand, two paper tickets appeared between his fingers, seemingly from nowhere, but in actuality, they came from his pocket. The woman furrowed her brows in a mix of surprise and suspicion. She took the tickets and her face went slack.

“These…” Her eyes snapped up, studying his face anew. “Oh my god. You’re—”

Nezumi hooked a finger under her chin and pulled her body flush with his. Her exclamation dropped into a startled gasp.

“I’ll look for you after the show,” he whispered against the hollow of her throat. He waited until he heard her gulp before stepping back and treating her to one of his more sultry smiles. “Bring a friend. That is, if _you _don’t mind sharing.”

The woman staggered off, looking dazed. Nezumi made a note to check the audience for her the day after tomorrow. _If she shows up in good health, then I’ll know for sure._

He hadn’t planned on this scenario, but he thought it worked out rather nicely for everyone.

Nezumi glanced at Shion, and realized he had been staring hard at the side of his face.

“What was that?”

“Looked like you getting your first kiss. How was it? Looked kind of sloppy, but I guess most first kisses are.”

Shion sputtered. “I didn’t mean to. That was— She just....” He raked a hand through his hair, face flushed. Nezumi smirked.

“No,” sighed Shion, “but I meant what did you give her?”

“Tickets.”

“Tickets? To what?”

“A little show called none of your business. It’s a hit with the youth, though its message always seems to go over their heads.”

Shion scowled at him. “Message received.” He brushed by Nezumi’s side to rejoin the crowd in the street.

Nezumi chuckled and followed him. “Your comebacks are improving. Now if only I could say the same for your street smarts.”

“This is only my second time out in West Block,” grumbled Shion as he sidestepped a gaggle of children. “And you left me behind.”

“Wrong. You couldn’t keep up.”

“What’s the difference?”

Shion’s tone was that of a sullen child, and Nezumi’s good mood evaporated. He grabbed Shion’s arm and yanked him to a stop.

“The difference,” he growled, “is you don’t get to blame others for your incompetence. It’s your own fault if you fall behind or are molested by a prostitute.” Shion winced as Nezumi tightened his grip. “I’m not your mama. I’m not even your friend. No one’s going to hold your hand here.” Nezumi shoved him away. “Grow up.”

Shion stumbled back and bumped into the woman behind him. He was so shocked he didn’t apologize or even react when she began cursing him out. _That’s_ what Nezumi needed from him: silence, indifference, a thicker skin. Not this soft, sad-eyed boy. Why couldn’t Shion just… be less?

Nezumi clenched his jaw and kept moving.


	15. Doglender

Shion didn’t call out to him for the rest of the walk to the hotel, not even when he inevitably fell behind again. Nezumi hopped up on a piece of a fallen building and waited for Shion to stagger his way over. He may not be infected, but he still walked as slow as a zombie.

Shion didn’t notice Nezumi immediately when he arrived. He paused on the outskirts of what used to be the old pavilion and gaped at the decimated buildings around him. Nezumi had visited the hotel often enough that the ruins no longer stirred his notice, but he supposed the sight would be a shock to a No. 6 citizen.

Rubble and half crumbled buildings littered the area, dun colored with dirt and age. What was left of the cobbled street was cracked and uneven. If you weren’t careful, you could easily step wrong and twist an ankle. The whole place looked like someone had taken a wrecking ball to it—with the exception of the hotel.

Although not completely immune to the ravages of time, the hotel was in fairly good condition. All four walls and the roof were still intact, and that was more than most West Block structures could say. The lower windows were shattered and had been boarded up, but the upper windows were in almost perfect condition, apart from the wayward bullet hole. The interior of the hotel was dog-infested, of course, but respectable in its own mangy way.

Nezumi had no love for Inukashi, but he had no qualms admitting they had a good base of operation.

At last, Shion noticed him. Nezumi slid down to the ground and approached. “Some ground rules before we go in.”

Shion glanced up at the hotel and then back at Nezumi. His face twisted apprehensively. “Is this another lesson?”

Nezumi’s stomach twinged at the memory, but he smiled through it. “Of a sort. But unless we’re really unlucky, this one doesn’t involve the dead.”

Shion didn’t look much cheered, but he remained quiet and expectant for Nezumi’s instructions.

“As I told you before, my contact is easily spooked, so no sudden movements. In fact, it would be best if you didn’t talk at all. Also…” Nezumi fixed the hat on Shion’s head so the tufts of white poking out from the brim were concealed. “Keep the hair tucked in. If Inukashi sees so much as a strand of white, they’ll blow your head off your shoulders.”

Shion was busy being very still under Nezumi’s touch, but when he heard that piece of information, he startled.

“Wait, what do you mean—” he started, but Nezumi turned and strode for the hotel before he could finish.

“Look alive!” he called back to Shion. It was a joke, but also he sincerely hoped Inukashi wasn’t in one of their trigger-happy moods.

He and Shion picked their way up the crumbling stairs to the hotel entrance. The rotting wood door swung open beneath Nezumi’s hand and he and Shion walked into the cavernous lobby. Due to the boarded first floor windows, there was hardly any light. A few feeble strains reached down from the windows above and through the cracked front door, but for most people, that wasn’t enough to see by and it took a few minutes for one’s eyes to adjust enough to see in the gloom.

Nezumi wasn’t most people. He worked in the shadows and their darkness could hide nothing from him. It would take only a few seconds to adjust his vision to the low light, and even if it didn’t, his other senses were finely honed. He could smell the dank scent of dog fur and hear them all around him and Shion, ears pricking toward the intruders, noses drawing in their scent.

Nezumi slipped his hand over his knife, just in case, and lifted his gaze to the second storey balcony. Inukashi was the best sniper West Block had, and Nezumi had no doubt he and Shion were snugly in their crosshairs. Three winks of light flashed at him in the darkness: two eyes and the barrel of a rifle.

“This room… It smells strange,” Shion said beside him.

“How so?” Nezumi kept his eyes up and his awareness stretched throughout the room.

“It smells like… animals.”

Nezumi smirked in spite of their position. It looked like Shion’s nose had improved, too, in the short time he’d been here. _Boy genius is a quick study._

A low growl began around the room. The hairs rose on Nezumi’s arms as the dogs around them stood and circled. He unclipped the pouch at his side, but didn’t remove the knife yet. Inukashi might shoot if it looked too much like he was going to hurt their precious dogs without provocation.

Shion stepped closer to Nezumi’s side. “Are those dogs?” he said, low, peering into the shadows.

A dog with dark, patchy fur stepped out into the middle of the floor. It slunk closer, revealing the line of its yellowed teeth in a guttural growl.

Shion crouched down so that he was eye level with the snarling mutt. Nezumi’s heart jumped.

“Shion,” he warned.

How could Shion be so stupid? If the dog attacked, his face or throat would be ripped to shreds before Nezumi could get there. But Nezumi couldn’t make any sudden movements without the risk of setting off the dog.

_ Damn you, _his mind screamed as Shion stretched out a hand. He couldn’t decide if he meant to curse Shion for his naivety or himself for putting them both in this position. He was _almost _sure Shion would not trigger the dogs, but he wasn’t _completely _sure, and he was now realizing he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the calculated risk.

The dog brought its face closer to Shion’s hand and sniffed. Nezumi’s brain began spinning an exit plan in that second: Pull Shion back, kill the dog, dodge the hail of bullets raining down on them from above, and get into the midst of the dogs, so that Inukashi could not shoot without the danger of harming one of the animals.

Nezumi’s hand closed over the handle of his knife and the dog licked Shion’s hand. Shion giggled and pulled away, losing his balance and plopping back on his behind. The dog descended upon him to lick his face, its tail wagging manically.

_ Well, shit._

Nezumi watched, flummoxed, as Shion sat on the floor grinning and patting the handful of dogs that loped out of the shadows to crowd around him. The dogs were all panting happily and wagging their tails, nosing each other out of the way for a chance to be petted.

_ I guess he really did beat the infection. _The tension leached out of Nezumi’s body.

“I never imagined I’d see you in here with your own stray, Nezumi,” Inukashi called from their shadowy nest. Their voice echoed faintly in the wide open space.

Nezumi clipped his knife pouch shut and looked up at the balcony. The glints of light above had been reduced to just the two, so he knew the rifle was no longer pointed their way. They had passed the test with flying colors.

Nezumi shrugged a shoulder and scooped a piece of rubble from the floor. “What can I say? There’s a first time for everything.” He chucked the rock at the balcony and smirked when he heard an angry shout from Inukashi.

Candlelight bloomed at the far end of the room. Nezumi crossed his arms and waited for Inukashi to make their way over. More dogs slunk out of the shadows to flank their master as Inukashi approached, and by the time they stopped to glare at Nezumi, they had assembled quite an audience.

Shion paused in his dog petting. “Oh, hello,” he greeted Inukashi pleasantly. “You must be Inukashi?” He looked at Nezumi for confirmation.

“And you must be Shion,” said Inukashi. Their small dark eyes made a quick appraisal of him. Nezumi knew that look. But whatever dirt Inukashi expected to find on Shion was nonexistent—unless, of course, you counted the dirt all over his clothes from playing with Inukashi’s mutts.

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I do. My dogs tell me about all the interesting happenings in West Block. And where this guy is concerned,” Inukashi leveled a loaded look at Nezumi, “you shacking up together is very interesting.”

Nezumi only smiled at them.

“Your dogs told you…” Shion said slowly. Inukashi tensed. But they shouldn’t have; Nezumi recognized the look on Shion’s face and rolled his eyes.

“You can talk to dogs? That’s so cool!” Shion grinned and Inukashi recoiled. “How do you—” Shion gasped. “Puppies!”

Five fur covered dough balls rolled out of the shadows. Shion scooped up the nearest puppy and held it aloft. “You’re so cute,” he cooed. “And fluffy!” Shion stuffed his face into the puppy’s chest as it wriggled and yipped. “Puppies are the best.”

Nezumi clamped his jaw down on the sigh threatening to escape his throat.

Inukashi pulled a face. “What is this kid’s problem? Don’t tell me you’re housing a crazy person.”

“I must be,” Nezumi said sadly. “Everyone knows kittens are the best.”

Inukashi took a swipe at him, but Nezumi danced out of the way. The smirk brimming on his face evaporated when he saw the puppy in Shion’s hands clamp its jaws down on his beanie and tug.

_ Uh oh, _Nezumi thought as Shion’s white hair sprang loose.

Inukashi jumped. It would have been comical, if they didn’t suddenly whip out the revolver they always kept hidden on their person. Nezumi was prepared for such a reaction, though, and twisted the gun out of Inukashi’s hand before they could even raise it.

“Are you crazy?!” Inukashi shrieked. They grabbed for the gun.

Nezumi held it aloft where their short arms couldn’t hope to reach. Inukashi snarled and retreated into the shadows. Attuned to their master’s distress, a few dogs moved to stand between Inukashi and them.

“What the hell are you thinking, bringing that thing in here?” Inukashi hissed. “He’s infected!”

“If he were infected, wouldn’t your mutts have ripped him apart by now?” Nezumi asked dryly. “I know you train them to sniff out the infection. Or have you grown lazy?”

Inukashi growled. “My dogs are the best.”

“Well then, there you have it,” said Nezumi with an air of finality.

Shion glanced up. His mouth tugged down when he noticed the gun in Nezumi’s hand and Inukashi cowering like a wounded animal. He had apparently only just realized what was going on.

Shion pushed himself to his feet. “I’m not infected. Well, not anymore anyway. It’s a little hard to explain.” He smiled sheepishly and pulled his beanie back onto his head.

Inukashi didn’t look entirely convinced.

Shion pressed his lips into a line and glanced at Nezumi. “Look,” he said, “I’m not going to turn, but if I did, I promise to bite Nezumi first so you’d have plenty of time to get away.”

“You would what now?” Nezumi said, narrowing his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you never to joke about that again?”

Shion pulled an apologetic face. “I thought it might make Inukashi feel more comfortable.”

“And what of my feelings? Hm?”

“They can handle a little nibbling.”

Inukashi cackled and Nezumi and Shion quieted instantly.

“You’re a freak,” Inukashi laughed at Shion. But for once, they didn’t sound like they meant it as an insult. “Nezumi would blow your brains out before you even got close, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Nezumi clicked his tongue. “Enough joking around. Let’s get down to business, shall we?” He offered Inukashi their gun back.

Inukashi snatched it with the unnecessary force of a child and gestured for them to follow them out of the lobby. Shion trotted to be closer to the candlelight as they entered the dark corridor.

\-----

One of the puppies kept following them, so Inukashi allowed Shion to hold it while they talked, provided it didn’t make any noise or mess. Shion was delighted. The puppy was soft and warm against his chest, and its light chuffs of breath tickled his arm.

As they passed through the hallways, Shion could see into a few open rooms. There were people inside them, huddled up on the floor with dogs and, occasionally, a worn blanket. Shion tugged Nezumi’s sleeve and asked him about it.

“It’s a hotel,” he said simply. “They’re customers.”

“But why the dogs?”

Nezumi arched an eyebrow. “Why do you think? Who owns this place? If you use your brain once in a while, you might find you don’t have to ask so many questions.”

Shion wrinkled his nose at him, but tried to puzzle it out on his own. Inukashi owned the hotel and the dogs, and Inukashi literally translated to “dog-lender.” All that made sense, but why did Inukashi lend the dogs? For company?

“The dogs are for keeping the customers warm,” Inukashi said. They’d stopped at a closed door at the end of the hallway. The wavering candle in Inukashi’s hand warmed their tanned skin and made their eyes glitter.

Shion realized then just how young Inukashi was. It was a strange world he lived in now, where zombies ran amok and children were entrepreneurs. He also was struck again by his lack of perspective. Shion never would have guessed the dogs could be a solution to keeping warm through the frigid nights, because he had never been desperately cold. Even in Lost Town, everyone had heat, and Shion was luckier than most in that Karan’s ovens made the house toasty and fragrant all year round.

Shion felt sad all of a sudden, and a little annoyed at his ignorance. He still had so much to learn and relearn. He wished his mind would acclimatize faster.

Inukashi swept their long, tangled hair out of their face and unlocked the door. “If you ever get sick of Nezumi, feel free to rent a dog and spend the night. I’ll give ya a discount just for ditching this SOB.”

Nezumi snorted. “Shion doesn’t have any money.”

“What? No money?”

Nezumi stepped into the open doorway and whispered into Inukashi’s face, “Not a single coin,” before slipping into the room beyond.

Inukashi gaped at Shion, as if he had become even more alien than before. Shion thought his lack of funds was one of the less startling things about him, but perhaps not by West Block standards.

“I’m working on getting a job,” Shion explained, trying on a smile and moving past Inukashi and into the room.

It was sparsely outfitted with a few chairs, a round table, and a bed at the far side. If there was anything more to look at, the candlelight couldn’t reach far enough into the shadows to reveal it.

“So, what do you have for me?” Nezumi asked. He had taken up a position standing behind the table. “Did you find Latch Building?”

“Money first,” came the dry response. Shion had a feeling this was a routine exchange.

Nezumi tossed a pouch onto the table and a small gray mouse slipped out. Shion’s heart spasmed, but he didn’t recognize the mouse, and a second later, he realized it must be a robot.

He frowned. He still hadn’t received an answer as to where Nezumi bought or created the machines, but he knew better than to ask again. Nezumi was an enigma wrapped in mystery sprinkled with a bad attitude, and Shion didn’t want to pick fights he knew he couldn’t win.

Inukashi snatched the robot off the table and grinned ear-to-ear. “This is nice.”

“It is, isn’t it? So whatever you have for me better be just as nice. Did you find the location or not?”

Inukashi tucked the mouse into their sagging pants and pursed their lips. “Sorta.”

Shion sifted his fingers through the fur of the puppy in his arms. “What do you mean?”

“There is no Latch Building, but there was a newspaper company in the LK-3000 area a few years back called _Latch Bill_. It closed up a little after everything went to shit. Look here.”

Inukashi pulled a worn square of paper from their back pocket and unfolded it on the table. Shion and Nezumi stepped forward to get a better look at the small renderings on the map.

Inukashi pointed to the gray square. “Here’s LK-3000, where _Latch Bill _was. But that part of town is on the other side of the fence, if ya know what I mean.”

Shion swallowed. He knew what they meant. A chill danced down the back of his neck as he remembered the unblinking, milky white stare of the zombie as it chomped on the fence links.

The puppy in his arms gave his hand a lick. Shion smiled down at it and murmured thanks.

Nezumi frowned. “So the building is a dead end….”

He laid a finger on the face of the map and traced the lines. Shion watched Nezumi’s hand. His wrist bent at a gentle, effortless slope, and the pad of his finger only just whispered over the delicate paper, smooth as a swan gliding over a still lake. The movement was beautiful and seemingly aware of its grace, and it made Shion feel tranquil just watching.

“Shion? You still with us?”

“Huh?” Shion blinked and lifted his eyes to Nezumi’s. “Uh, yes. Sorry.”

“Did you have an idea?”

“Oh. No, I was just watching your hand. Your movements are really elegant.”

Nezumi’s frown deepened.

Inukashi’s face looked like they had just sucked on a lemon. “Ew,” they spat. “Don’t flirt when we’re trying to do business, please. It’s disgusting.”

Shion colored, but Nezumi waved them both off. “Shion doesn’t know how to flirt,” he said dryly. “He just suffers from oversharing. It’s a terrible, and I’m sorry to say, incurable affliction.”

Shion scowled and lifted the puppy in his arms so he could hide his ugly feelings in its soft fur. The puppy smelled like earth and warm milk. He felt instantly soothed.

“Elegant,” Inukashi scoffed, eyeing Shion. “No shit. Or do you not know what this guy does for a living?”

“...Hunts zombies?” Shion guessed.

Nezumi scoffed. “Everyone does that here. That’s like saying my job is breathing.” He paused, though, and gave Inukashi a scrutinizing look. “But I guess you’re an exception to the rule. You only bother with zombies if they step through your door.”

“Damn right. Why would I risk my neck _seeking _them out? That’s what I hire suicidal people like you for.”

Shion traded glances between them, uncertain.

Nezumi jerked a thumb in Inukashi’s direction. “Inukashi doesn’t like to get their hands dirty. They’d rather kill from a distance, more like what you’d call wall patrol in No. 6.”

“Hey! Don’t compare me to those bastards!” Inukashi spat. “I don’t take potshots at everything that moves. I only kill zombies that are in places they shouldn’t be. Namely, my house.”

Shion straightened. Something Inukashi said didn’t sit right. “What do you mean by wall patrol taking potshots? The wall patrol only shoots… zombies…”

Shion swallowed and trailed off. Nezumi was smiling at him, and he had that dangerous glint in his eye that meant he was about to take pleasure in ripping Shion’s world to shreds. Inukashi beat him to it.

“What rock did you crawl out from under? Zombies can’t even get near that damned wall. Maybe one will accidentally wander over and get picked off every few months, but the rest of the time, those meathead officers are just swinging their dicks around and playing chicken with our heads.”

Shion’s breath lodged in his throat. _No. They can’t be._ But… Something wasn’t right in No. 6. Shion knew it, and had known it awhile. The city and its government lied—he had experienced that firsthand. So what Inukashi said could be true. The wall patrol could be shooting at living people outside the wall. For fun.

Shion shook. He had to place the puppy he held on the ground, afraid he would lose control and drop it. He took a few breaths to steady himself.

Inukashi narrowed their eyes at him and swung around to face Nezumi. “Where did you find this kid? Seriously. He’s poor and doesn’t know anything about anything, and you _hate _that.”

“I have my reasons,” Nezumi said. “You stick to your own business, which, from my perspective, looks to have been completely useless to me. I’ll be taking that mouse back.” Nezumi held out a hand, but Inukashi leapt away.

“No way! I found your _Latch Bill_, as requested. I also dug up something else. The address of a guy who used to work there.”

“Let me guess: You expect me to throw you another bone for the ‘extra work’?”

Inukashi smirked. They stuck out a hand and wiggled their fingers.

Shion sighed and shook his head. Today had been stressful, and the exchanges in West Block seemed to be a lot of work. He wished he had the puppy back, but it had run off somewhere. He wished he were back at the bunker, or in Lost Town with his mother.

After some back and forth insults and posturing, Inukashi finally extorted a silver coin from Nezumi. “The guy you’re looking for is named Rikiga. He lives here,” they said, and stabbed a spot on the map. “And, apparently, he has ties to our good neighbor, No. 6.”

Nezumi’s eyes flashed. “Tell me more.”


	16. Eve

Shion nibbled the edge of his nail. His nails were getting long and he wanted to cut them, but he couldn’t find anything with which to do that. Nezumi wasn’t in. After Shion and he left the meeting with Inukashi, Nezumi had a frenetic energy about him and a gleam in his eye that Shion wasn’t quite sure he understood or liked.

When Shion asked whether they should make a visit to the man Inukashi pointed them towards—Rikiga, they’d said his name was—Nezumi told him they would do so tomorrow afternoon; he had something else he needed to take care of tonight. He would not elaborate, though that didn’t stop Shion from trying a few roundabout tactics to learn more as they walked back to the underground room. All that he’d gathered before Nezumi set off again, alone, was that it was Nezumi’s “personal business” and “nothing an airhead like you would understand.”

But Shion _wanted _to understand. _How many times do I have to say it before he takes me seriously?_

Shion glared at the faded green carpet. If it was personal business, truly, then he supposed he wasn’t allowed to pry, but there were so many things that weren’t personal, that seemed to be common knowledge to everyone but him, and Nezumi refused to explain these to him properly. Instead he waited for Shion to make a mistake and then lectured him on how naive and foolish he was, or he threw Shion into the path of strangers and expected him to just… figure it out without getting molested or robbed or—god forbid—_dying_.

It didn’t seem like the best way of teaching, and Shion was tired of being constantly wary. He just wanted Nezumi to talk to him. If not about himself, then at least about the world in which Shion must now make a home. I’m _being perfectly rational! It’s _Nezumi _that’s being dense and an airhead._

Shion stopped chomping on his ragged nail and crossed his arms over his chest. He wanted to have an argument with Nezumi about this right now, but of course, and as was typical, Nezumi was unavailable. The mice lying atop the book bench were feigning sleep, but he could see their grape-colored eyes peering at him from time to time.

“Am I being unreasonable?” Shion demanded of them.

Hamlet and Cravat sat up, as if they had been waiting all along for Shion to unburden himself. Tsukiyo didn’t move; it appeared he was actually asleep.

“Everything I’ve learned so far has been forced onto me and I still feel like I barely know anything. How am I supposed to become more aware if Nezumi doesn’t tell me what I need to be watching out for? Am I being crazy? I don’t think I’m being crazy here.”

Cravat tilted her head and squeaked.

Shion’s mouth pulled down in a pout. “You think I’m being selfish.”

Hamlet glanced at the light brown mouse, swished his tail back and forth, and chirruped at Shion.

“And you think I’m whining too much.” He growled. “Tsukiyo, wake up. I need your opinion.”

The black mouse turned his head and squinted sleepily at Shion. Tsukiyo obviously couldn’t care less what he was on about.

Shion huffed. “I should have known. You’re Nezumi’s mice; of course you’d take his side. Fine, then. Maybe I _will_ take Inukashi up on their offer to stay at the hotel,” he said pettishly. “They at least tell me things without making me jump through hoops, and the dogs there were really nice, _and _there were puppies.”

Hamlet and Cravat rose up onto their hind legs and chittered with varying degrees of distress. Tsukiyo roused at the noise and joined in after a moment of listening. All three mice pounced from the book bench and onto the bed sheets and ran in circles. Shion had never seen them look so vexed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean it.”

The mice quieted, but looked no less reproachful.

Shion flopped down on the bed and stared at the door across the room. It was impossible anyway. Inukashi would never take him—Shion had no money or means to make a living—and what’s more, he didn’t want to leave Nezumi. Despite his daily frustration, Shion liked the underground room and its cozy intellectualism. He enjoyed the company of the mice, and he felt at home with Nezumi.

Living with Nezumi was like sharing space with a raincloud. He stormed and thundered and got pissy at the slightest shift in the wind, but he also shielded Shion when the truth grew too blinding to bear. And even when his words pelted Shion and chilled him to the bone, there was something refreshing in them too, as if each lash scoured another layer of murk from Shion’s soul.

Now that he had been forced from No. 6’s obfuscating embrace, he was reminded daily that the city had ill prepared him for the outside world and its realities. Shion had to start from scratch, and although Nezumi was a harsh foundation, he was the only one Shion wanted to grow from.

“And this is why I’m selfish, and a whiner, and bothersome,” Shion said, looking to each mouse as he confirmed their accusations. “And this is why Nezumi calls me an airhead who doesn’t know anything. I don’t even understand myself half the time, so how am I supposed to understand him?”

He had to try harder, and not lean so heavily on Nezumi. No more complaints or whining. Shion sighed and buried his face in the pillow. The mice scurried up his body and nestled in the crook of his neck. He let their warmth and soft noises lull him into a light sleep.

Shion woke. He wasn’t sure what had jostled him out of his cozy dreams, but he guessed it was some sound Nezumi had made. The door was barred and the light in the room had been lowered to just a single, hazy lantern flame, so he knew Nezumi had come home.

Shion had stubbed his toes and tripped in the darkness on the way to the bathroom one too many times, and Nezumi finally agreed to keep a low light burning through the night. His one condition was that Shion had to pay him for all the extra oil once he managed to find a job. That was fine by Shion; his feet were grateful for the respite and, besides, he had already planned to give the money he earned to Nezumi to put toward the household expenses.

Things clattered in the bathroom as Nezumi prepared for bed. Shion listened, hoping to stay awake long enough to welcome Nezumi back home and ask about his night, but his eyelids kept drooping. Before he dropped off again completely, Shion tugged the blanket out from underneath himself and snuggled under it. He was awoken again, though, when Nezumi crawled into bed.

Nezumi was a rude bedfellow. He was always yanking the pillow towards himself, or rolling away with most of the blanket, or else kicking Shion in his sleep. Shion had learned quickly to keep himself close to the wall and take up as little space as possible, while still maintaining enough pillow and blanket to sleep comfortably. He had made the necessary adjustments when he tucked himself under the blanket before, though, and once Nezumi was settled with his back to Shion, Shion tried once again to fall back to sleep.

_ What’s that...?_ There was a faint aroma in the air. Shion creaked his eyes open and drew a breath through his nose. It smelled sweet and deep, like the perfume of flowers. Or like perfume. Shion opened his eyes and stared at the back of Nezumi’s head.

He hadn’t heard the shower running, so it couldn’t be a new shampoo. Shion stretched his neck cautiously forward and sniffed again. The scent was definitely coming from Nezumi and it was definitely perfumelike. His mother was a flower enthusiast before a baker, and Karan used to tend a garden when they lived in Chronos. Shion recognized the sweet powdery, almost woody scent as that of violets.

Shion’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. He liked the smell of violets, but for some reason the smell of them on Nezumi made his heart scutter and his skin turn cold. It took him a moment to realize why. The woman from the alleyway, the… working girl. She had worn perfume, and though the scent wasn’t the same, it was similar enough.

Nezumi said he had personal business tonight. Shion wanted to know more than ever what that personal business was. _Why does he smell like that woman?_

The back of Shion’s neck grew hot when he remembered the way Nezumi had held her against his body. He clenched his jaw against the picture of flushed dazzlement on the woman’s face when Nezumi leaned close and whispered in her ear.

The woman had said something just before, something Shion hadn’t quite understood and had completely forgotten once he saw the way she clung to Nezumi and stared at him with raw desire. She had mentioned “Eve,” and Nezumi had cut her off abruptly, as if he didn’t want Shion to hear.

Who was Eve? Was she why the working girl seemed to know Nezumi, and the reason Nezumi was out so late, and was she what Nezumi thought Shion was too airheaded to understand? Shion sucked in an unsteady breath, swallowing another whiff of the violet perfume. He felt sick.

Nezumi twisted to peer over his shoulder. His eyes were tired, but the grey in them was bright with suspicion. “Did you just smell me?”

“Why do you smell like flowers? Is it because of Eve?”

Nezumi stiffened. He cursed under his breath. “Where’d you hear about that?”

_ So it’s true. _Shion’s stomach plummeted. He didn’t expect Nezumi to admit it. Rather, he was hoping Nezumi would just scowl and say he didn’t know what Shion was talking about and to shut it and go back to sleep. Nezumi was never forthcoming; _why_, of all things, was he being forthright about _this_? This was the one thing Shion would have been happier never knowing about.

“Does it matter?” Shion said quietly.

Nezumi growled and turned away. Shion stared at his back. His chest ached, but his mind was buzzing, trying to find an explanation, a way to make this less than it seemed, and the only way to do that was to ask more about it and hope Nezumi contradicted him.

“Is…” Shion mumbled. “Is it serious?”

“Hardly. It’s just a side thing.” Nezumi waved a hand dismissively. “You know. For fun. To blow off steam a few nights a week.”

Shion’s ears were ringing. Is that the kind of person Nezumi was?

_ Oh god. _Shion scrunched himself into a tight ball, as close to the wall as he could get. He didn’t want to hear anymore. He decided he didn’t want to know about Nezumi’s personal life after all.

“Don’t bother asking if you can tag along,” Nezumi said sharply. “You’re not invited.”

“I would never ask that. It’s your business.” The words tore out of him with more bitterness than he meant to reveal.

Nezumi was still and silent. Shion’s mouth was dry. His body burned with so much pain and disgust and jealousy he would have gotten up from the bed and ran out into the night if he didn’t have to climb over Nezumi to do it.

“Huh,” Nezumi said, sounding genuinely stunned. “I would have thought you’d be begging to see me perform.”

The shock hit Shion so hard he couldn’t breathe for a moment. “What?” he gasped. “_No._ Why would I—” His face heated and he channeled his embarrassment and hurt into a single hiss, “What do you think I am, some kind of masochist?”

Nezumi lifted his head and half turned. His expression was not ashamed or mocking in the least. He just looked very confused. It was a complete contradiction to the deeply personal, and plainly vulgar, track of the conversation. Something in the back of Shion’s head itched that this wasn’t right.

“Masochist?” Nezumi repeated. “What, did No. 6 kill your dream of becoming an actor?”

Shion stared at his profile, wide-eyed. The heat in his body snuffed out, like someone had doused him with cold water. _Actor?_

“I know No. 6 doesn’t allow plays, but I didn’t think you had much personal interest in the arts anyway,” Nezumi continued. “I mean, sure, you read, but you _read _like a wooden dummy, so even if No. 6 allowed theater productions, you’d never make it to the stage.”

Nezumi must have taken Shion’s dumbfounded silence for dejection, because he said a beat later, “Sorry, but it’s true. Take it from someone who knows.”

Dread pooled in Shion’s stomach as things started to align. Nezumi’s snobbishness about and preference for Shakespeare’s plays; the tickets he had given the woman before he sent her off in a daze; Inukashi’s scoffing remark about Nezumi’s grace: _Or do you not know what this guy does for a living?_

“Nezumi.” Shion’s voice was tight. “Who’s Eve?”

“No one. It’s just a stage name. But you know…” Nezumi stilled. His next words came out low and breathless, “You didn’t know.”

Nezumi flipped over to face him. Shion tried to cower, but he was already plastered as far against the wall as he could be.

“Wait a second,” Nezumi said, his calm demeanor giving way to excitement. “What did you think I was talking about? Or should I say who?”

Shion could see Nezumi playing the conversation back in his head and he felt the pulse of wicked delight when Nezumi realized the misunderstanding. Nezumi grinned and immediately started cackling.

“Holy _shit,_” Nezumi exclaimed, gripping his sides as a fresh peal of laughter rocked through him. “Aw, damn! I wish I’d caught on earlier. That would have been a _goldmine._”

Shion weathered the laughter, his eyes averted and face aflame.

“Although,” Nezumi said, once he’d wrestled his hilarity down to the occasional snicker, “the performance innuendo was still a good thrust, even if unintentional.”

“Nezumi, stop,” Shion muttered miserably. “It’s not that funny.”

“My dear Shion, that was the very peak of dramatic irony, the likes of which even Shakespeare could not help but be impressed by.”

Shion finally collected enough courage to look Nezumi in the face. His grey eyes sparkled with tears from his laughing fit.

“Poor thing,” Nezumi said. He reached to brush Shion’s hair back from his forehead and Shion suppressed a shiver. Nezumi’s hand carried the scent of the violet perfume, and now that Shion knew it was part of some costume and not a vestige of a liaison, he could finally appreciate its delicacy.

“Did thinking of me in another’s arms get you all hot and bothered?”

Shion swatted Nezumi’s hand away. The tense “No” he barked in response was the verbal equivalent of stomping one’s foot in irritation. Nezumi’s smirk was shadowy in the low light.

“Have you ever been with a woman? Or _anyone_?”

Shion cursed himself for opening this topic. It could only ever have led here.

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with anything,” Shion answered. “Unless you just want to brag.”

“Hey, no one’s bragging here. I have a strict no kiss-and-tell policy regarding my conquests.”

“You’re sixteen years old, Nezumi! You shouldn’t have ‘conquests!’”

“Well, if you never know when you’re going to die, you might as well live life to the fullest. It’s practically a rite of passage once you hit our age.”

Nezumi propped his head up on his hand and smiled. “If you’re curious about sex,” he purred, letting the proposition hang as his gaze made a leisurely appraisal of Shion’s flushed face, “I could track down that prostitute for you. She’s not cheap, but I’d splurge for the sake of your manhood.”

Shion tensed. “Why are you always such a—” He stopped himself at the last moment, but when he saw the smug look on Nezumi’s face, Shion wondered why he even bothered censoring himself.

_ Alright, that’s it. I’m sick of letting him belittle me. I told myself I was going to step up. So here’s me, stepping up._

Shion narrowed his eyes. “Why pay for it? You’re already well versed in the subject.”

The flame of the lone lantern flickered, and the shadows around them seemed suddenly more sinuous, the low light more intimate, and the atmosphere more ominous. The smugness ebbed out of Nezumi’s expression.

“You promised to teach me everything I’d need to know to live here, so if this is so essential, then... Why not teach me yourself?”

Shion stared directly into Nezumi’s eyes and said each word slowly, measuring the effect it had on him. He was keenly aware now that they were lying in a bed, inches from each other. He had to be crazy to talk like this to Nezumi. It was flirting with danger and he knew Nezumi could best him at seduction any day of the week.

But by god it was _working_. Nezumi swallowed. A trill of malicious triumph shot through Shion’s chest.

“Not up to it?”

Nezumi’s face twitched, but he didn’t move. He could have been a statue called Forbearance for all that his face revealed. But Shion could see the tension in his jawline and in the stiff set to his shoulder.

Shion let the moment hang between them for a breath, waiting for the pithy retort and relishing every second that it didn’t come. “Well, then,” he said at last.

Shion pushed his blanket off and crawled toward the foot of the bed. Nezumi instantly sat up and pulled his legs out of reach.

“What are you doing?”

Shion paused mid-crawl and leveled a cool look at him. “Going to the bathroom.” He swept his gaze over the other boy’s uneasy body language and said, in his best imitation of Nezumi’s condescension, “Now who’s acting like a blushing virgin?”

Nezumi’s eyes widened. Shion didn’t stay to see what else he’d do or say in response. Shion climbed off the bed, strode to the bathroom, and ran his head under the faucet to shock his pounding heart into a steadier rhythm.


	17. Abandon All Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just a reminder, this is the last week I will be posting before I go on break for a bit. But the No. 6 Secret Santa is starting in Dec, so we'll have loads of new content on tumblr and Ao3 come Jan. And the No. 6 zine is coming in early Jan as well! Look forward to it. :D and I hope to be posting again soon.

The halls of the Correctional Facility were cold and sterile, much like the people who worked there. He disliked the place immensely and avoided it at all costs, but it was a necessary inconvenience, and there were times during his uninterrupted term as mayor of Quarantine Zone No. 6 that he could not avoid its echoing halls and chatty research teams.

He did wish, though, that his friend would deign to come to his office in the Moondrop once in a while. However, the man harbored a dislike for the city center equal to the mayor’s for the Correctional Facility. That, and the man’s work could not very well be brought into the eyes of decent people, whereas the mayor’s person could be easily and surreptitiously conveyed to the lab.

The mayor sighed under his breath as a lab assistant led him through the complex towards the lower floors where his friend kept his work. He wished he could be back in his office, sipping his eternally warm coffee and surveying his kingdom. No. 6 was a beautiful place with happy, carefully cultivated people, and he was the one responsible for its prosperity. He loved reminding himself of that fact every time he watched the blood red sun rise over the city’s tall, sturdy walls. Why, all that remained now was for him to expand his munificence the world over—or rather, to what was left of the world after his plans had run their course.

Remembering his imminent takeover buoyed his mood some. Visiting the Correctional Facility wasn’t his favorite chore, but progress checks were an integral part of the process.

The lab assistant swiped him through the last in a series of heavy, card encrypted doors. “Sir,” she called into the dark room.

A head poked out from the doorway at the side of the room, followed by the owner’s body, clad in a pristine white lab coat. The mayor thanked the assistant and sent her on her way.

“You’re looking shabby,” the mayor said to the man as he took in his shaggy, greying hair and sallow face. The man’s person had always been insubstantial, but now he seemed more lab coat than anything else.

“And you gained weight,” the man returned without much interest, and then waved him over with a sudden grin. “Come look at the finished product.”

The mayor crossed the room and entered the one the man had disappeared into. The lab coat swished as the man closed the door and flicked on the light.

The mayor reared back. “Oh,” he muttered in disgust.

The light illuminated yet another room, separated from theirs by reinforced glass, and inside it was a… _thing_. One of the subjects the man had been working on for their plan. Its face was slack as it stared up at the blinding ceiling light and the mayor could see a bald patch on the back of its white-haired head where the hair had fallen away. It wore the green jumpsuit of the Park Administration, but the uniform was dirty and rumpled.

Thankfully, though, the creature was not much decomposed. The mayor had seen the Security Bureau’s videos, and, well… He still had the occasional nightmare. But no, this one was a bit saggy-faced, but in decent shape for a dead thing, protected as it was in the lab from the elements and its ravenous appetite.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” crooned the man, pressing a gloved hand against the glass. “The strain is perfected. I’ve modified it so that the symptoms of infection are milder, and develop more slowly before progressing at a sudden rapid rate. No one will suspect a thing until the creatures start snapping.”

“Hm. So we’re— _Holy fuck!_”

The mayor leapt backward as the creature wrenched its head toward them and sprang. The glass didn’t even rattle as the full weight of its body smashed into it, but the mayor’s heart jolted dangerously in his chest.

“What the…” the mayor sputtered. “Why is it so fast?”

His friend smiled beatifically at the snarling monster. “Ah yes. I almost forgot!” He tittered. It was a perverse sound coming from a man in his forties. “Since the new strain slows down the progression of the infection symptoms, the subjects don’t waste away before they turn. Their muscles remain intact for much longer. After they’ve fully turned, they start to degenerate at the regular rate, but in the first day or two, they’re as fast as they were in life. It was something we didn’t anticipate when we were modifying the strain, but it’s remarkable, isn’t it? An added bonus!”

The creature grew bored mouthing the barrier and backed off. A smear of blood and saliva streaked the glass where its face had been pressed. The mayor’s skin crawled. He tried not to think about the ramifications of fast zombies, and was glad he’d be well out of the way when the outbreak occurred.

“That’s… great. So we’re on schedule to release the strain next month?”

“Perfectly. Very soon the other zones will be overrun, and everything will be ready for you to step in and offer them relief.”

The mayor nodded. “And the vaccine?”

“Mm? Oh, yes. That’s nearly ready, I believe. We’ve run several successful trials.”

“The minute you’ve put your stamp of approval on it, I want a bottle of serum sent to my office.”

Lord knew he couldn’t inoculate himself fast enough. Once they released the infection in the quarantine zones, there would be no telling how fast it would spread before they contained it again.

The mayor eyed the corpse as it began to shuffle around, sniffing the air for food. “That thing... It was the employee from last week’s incident, wasn’t it?”

“One of them, yes.”

“That’s what I thought. And would you care to explain why this subject was out in the city before schedule?”

The mayor arched a hard eyebrow at the lab coat. He and the man had been friends for decades, and so he knew how meticulous he was about his experiments. If a test subject was out of the lab, it was because the man wanted it to be. “For the sake of science,” he’d probably say.

Which was very annoying. Everything the mayor did to achieve his power, keep it, and expand it, relied on very careful planning. He didn’t need the mad scientist toppling the dominos of his world domination scheme on caprice.

He would have had the man thrown into the Deadlands years ago if he didn’t need his vicious mind and expertise so badly. _My greatest asset is also my greatest weakness. _The irony was enough to keep him up at night.

His old friend’s smile tilted. “I’ve only ever seen the infection take its course in lab conditions. I was curious if a change of atmosphere would affect the timeline.”

The mayor sighed through his nose. “And did it?”

“No. It’s quite reliable.”

“Great. Nice to know you almost started an outbreak for no other reason than to sate your curiosity.”

The man in the lab coat blew out his lips. “If I didn’t feel confident I could control the experiment, I wouldn’t have initiated a live trial. We wanted that other employee for a subject anyway. I just thought the data would be more useful if I could see how it would _really_ happen when we start the outbreak.”

The two men stood in silent reflection for a moment, watching the undead thing tap the walls of its enclosure, searching for a way forward. It really was a hideous beast. The mayor wasn’t at all interested in seeing it at work. He had never derived much pleasure from the set up of an upheaval; he was more the swooping-in-during-the-aftermath-and-wresting-control type.

“Besides,” the man said, “I had officers posted to make sure everything was kept out of the public eye. They were very efficient, even you have to admit.”

“Speaking of… Is it true that the other employee escaped? Rashi said a certain favored subject of yours snapped him up.”

“Oh, yes…” The man pouted. “I wish Rashi would have grabbed him. I would give anything to run tests on that boy, to see if his surviving the first strain was a fluke or not…”

“Well, I don’t think the other Park employee got infected, but if he did, at least he’s out in West Block. No one will be the wiser over there; it’ll just look like he was infected with the old strain. And with luck, the boy killed or infected his rescuer.”

“I hope not. I was rather hoping to catch the rat and investigate him at my leisure. Maybe do an autopsy when all is said and done.” The man flicked his tongue over his bottom lip. It was a tic of his whenever he was thinking deeply on a topic that excited him.

The mayor snorted. “You are rare man—and a little disturbing, if I’m being completely honest.”

The lab coat shivered as the man laughed. “Science is not always a comfortable subject. Sometimes we have to get our hands dirty to achieve our visions, as you and I both know.” He smiled at the creature snuffling about in its cage. “And, my old friend, the future looks bright. Pretty soon you’ll be the Grand Ruler of the civilized world, and the Holy City the jewel of them all. And I’ll be back to tinkering under my microscope, safely in the lab where you don’t have to be troubled by my madness.”

The mayor took a moment to savor this image. _Grand Ruler. I like that. But maybe Grand Liberator would be better? I’ll be their savior, after all._

He smiled to himself and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “All this talk of conquering has made me hungry. Let’s have dinner. I’ve a bottle of red from No. 3 I’m told goes spectacularly with steak.”

\-----

“Light’s on,” Shion observed.

He and Nezumi stood outside of a three-storey building at the east end of West Block. The red brick face told him it had been charming in its heyday, but now the windows and doors were constricted with vines, and the portions that peaked through the web were craggy and pockmarked. Shion knew that the small craters in and around the once grand archway were bullet holes. Nezumi had been pointing out such marks in the stalls and buildings around West Block with all the cavalier boredom of a local showing the sites to a culture-shocked tourist.

The building looked abandoned, but in the fading light, it was easy to spot the one bright window in its crumbling facade, all the way on the top floor. And it was _very _bright. It took Shion a moment to figure out why this felt so strange to him, but then he realized that such a strong light could only have come from electricity. So far, every home he’d seen in West Block, apart from Nezumi’s, used candles or lanterns for illumination.

Nezumi squinted at the window and frowned at the dilapidated structure, perhaps thinking the same as Shion about the discrepancy.

“Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,” Shion said with as much gravelly foreboding as he was capable of producing.

Nezumi arched an amused eyebrow at him. “I sure hope the entrance to hell isn’t behind this door. I didn’t bring nearly enough winter wear.”

They slipped inside. The evening light was musty and dim, but enough of the window panes were unobstructed that they could see—and good thing, too, because the first floor was trashed with broken chairs, glass, and wads of indistinguishable materials. Shion let Nezumi lead the way through the room and uttered a sigh of relief when they hit the staircase. His anxiety returned, however, when he heard how the steps shrieked when walked upon.

The third floor was no cleaner, and it reeked. The first and second floors smelled dank and dusty, like a space left to moulder, but the bitter tang of alcohol permeated the air on the third floor. Empty bottles of varying shapes, colors, and sizes lined the walls, and there was a pile of shattered glass directly in front of the door at the end of the hall, as if its occupant just tossed the bottles out when he was finished. The pieces’ sharp edges glittered in the light leaking out from underneath the door.

As they approached, a sudden racket began behind the door. Something big fell over, followed by the sound of glass smashing. A woman screamed, loudly and continuously. Shion moved to throw the door open, but Nezumi threw an arm across his chest.

“Zombies?” he reminded Shion in a hard, disappointed whisper. Shion hunched his shoulders and apologized.

Another loud bang sounded and a man’s voice cried out for help. Shion’s heart seized in his chest. If there was a monster on the other side of that door… Maybe they should just turn around and leave it to its work.

_ No, wait! What am I thinking? There’s a person in there who needs our help. And even if we’re too late, at the very least, shouldn’t we make sure the zombie doesn’t hurt anyone else?_

His eyes met Nezumi’s, and he realized that Nezumi was waiting for his cue._ Go in, or not? _his steady gaze asked.

Shion nodded and Nezumi unclipped his knife holster. He twisted the knob silently and pushed the door open. They stood for a second in the doorway, taking in the scene.

Shion’s first impression was of clutter. The room was as dirty and bottle-laden as the hall, and the caustic stench of alcohol was far more concentrated. Stacks of books and papers were piled on the desk in the corner, but whereas such a collection was a quaint, personality-lending feature in the underground room, the utter desolation of the rest of this space rendered the stacks just more junk.

Shion couldn’t pay much more attention to the room’s need for housekeeping, though, because there was a man and woman tusseling on the stained linoleum floor. The woman appeared to be winning, as she was astride the man, the hem of her short black dress riding up her thigh as she held him down. Her face was painted with heavy makeup and a heavier dose of rage. For a split second, Shion thought she could’ve been a zombie, but then he realized that the woman was not attacking with teeth or nails. There was, however, a knife raised in her hand above her head.

Nezumi clicked his tongue and strode into the room. As the woman continued to scream insults, waving the knife about, he sidled up to her and plucked the weapon from her grasp.

“Hey!” the woman barked, her shoulder-length black hair flying as she whirled on him. “What the hell is a kid doing in here? _Give me that back!_ I’m going to kill this cheating bastard!” She staggered off the man and lunged for the knife.

Nezumi tossed the knife to the floor and caught the woman by the shoulders. “Pick that up and sheath it, would you?” he said to Shion, voice calm and easy, as if he wasn’t at that moment restraining a shrieking banshee.

Shion picked the knife up gingerly, found its red leather case, and slipped it inside.

All at once, the tension in the atmosphere snapped and dropped. The woman sagged in Nezumi’s arms and started bawling angry, snotty tears, mixed with the occasional venomous outburst about two-timers and good-for-nothing drunks. Nezumi patted her back and murmured soothing things to her, but when Shion caught his look, he rolled his eyes and nodded towards the room’s other occupant.

The man had picked himself off the floor. He was middle-aged and shirtless, and Shion could see he was cultivating a gut. He looked completely unharmed by the attack, though his thick mustache twitched in irritation as he scrounged around for a shirt. He finally found a semi-clean looking article wedged between two couch cushions and pulled it over his broad shoulders.

“Um. Excuse me, are you Rikiga?” Shion asked.

“Who’s asking?” the man said, sizing Shion up from his beanie to his toes.

“If the Rikiga you want is a washed up, asshat of a news reporter, then you’ve got the right guy,” the woman said. She had stopped crying, but her eyes were puffy and her makeup was smeared around her face so badly she resembled a Picasso painting. “But his_ Latch Bill_ days are _long_ behind him. Now all he does is make shitty porno mags, drink alcohol, and _cheat on his fiancée_! Oh no, wait,” she snapped, jerking out of Nezumi’s grip. “_Ex_-fiancée!”

“You’re damn right you’re my ex,” the man, Rikiga, growled. “I’m the one who broke it off with you, remember? And then you tried to stab me!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were lying to my face! ‘Issues came up,’ you said. What kind of half-assed excuse is that? What issues, huh? My age? Are my tits not perky enough for you anymore, you cradle robbing bastard?”

Shion flushed. They shouldn’t have opened the door; this was beyond his expertise.

“Father, you’re getting married?”

Everyone in the room turned to Nezumi. He wore a doe-eyed expression Shion had never seen on him before, and when Nezumi drifted to Rikiga’s side and laid a hand on the man’s forearm, he had a delicate, almost feminine air about him. Shion blinked, and suddenly he realized that person before him wasn’t Nezumi anymore, but his acting persona, Eve.

“I’m so happy! Shion’s only regret was that he would never see you settled before he turned.”

Shion’s wonder fizzled and he narrowed his eyes at Nezumi. But at that significant statement, the woman and Rikiga’s attention snapped to Shion.

“Brother, isn’t this great?” Nezumi smiled beatifically at Shion. “Now you can pass on in the arms of a full, loving family.”

Inside, Shion was sour at being thrown under the bus. He would have huffed if he could have, but that would ruin the game Nezumi was trying to play, and at this point, Shion would do anything to have this domestic dispute over with.

Shion pulled off his hat and put on his most pathetic sick child smile. “Is it true?” he asked the terrified woman. “Will you promise to stay by my side until the very end?”

The woman could not have run out of the room faster if there was a murder of zombies chomping at her heels. Bottles in the hallway clattered as she kicked through them in her mad dash.

“Right, so...” Rikiga said after a beat. “I’m going to trust in you as an actor, Eve, and guess that your friend over there is not actually infected?”

Nezumi’s smile turned sharp. “You have nothing to fear.” He let go of Rikiga’s arm and took a step back. “Shion only bites when cornered.”

“Thank god. And thanks for the assistance. I’d have been gutted if not for you.” Rikiga blew out a breath. “You kids pull that ruse often? Is that why your hair’s that color?”

His expression turned thoughtful as he studied Shion’s person. Rikiga’s face showed signs of wear around the eyes and mouth, but there was an indomitable energy in the lines, and something in the high bridge of his nose suggested a proclivity for cunning.

“My hair’s just like this,” Shion explained. “It’s a long story.”

“I like long stories.”

“So do we,” Nezumi said. “And we’ve heard you have quite the tale to tell about our friend No. 6.”

Rikiga twisted towards him. “I’m not sure who your source is, but I don’t know much more about that zone than your regular guy. In fact, a rat like you probably knows a lot more than me. I do far less scurrying in my line of work.”

“Though you deal in a lot more trash.” Nezumi nudged a magazine on the floor with the tip of his boot. A bare-chested woman posed on its cover, her voluptuous figure blurred by poor photography and beer stains.

Rikiga made a flippant gesture. “If the public didn’t buy it, I wouldn’t sell it. And I pay the ladies well. Better than what they’d get on the street for showing some skin.” 

“Well, a lady we know seems to think you’re worth chatting up. Karan?”

The man was no actor, and Shion saw the shock on his face plainly.

“You know Karan?”

“She’s my mom.”

Rikiga blinked at him. When he studied Shion this time, there was nothing sly about it. “Your mom… Karan’s son…” He swallowed. “Christ, you really are, huh? You look just like her. What’d you say your name was?”

“Shion.”

“Like the flower. Hm. Yeah, Karan always said she liked natural sounding names…” He smiled to himself, but sobered up almost immediately. “Karan sent you to me?”

“Take a look,” said Nezumi and held the note out to him.

Rikiga’s brow furrowed, and for a moment it looked like he was going to cry, but he reined his emotions back with a massive sniff. “Let me get you a drink,” he said, cupping the slip of paper in his massive hand like it was a baby bird. “And some food. Some… Some pie. Karan always liked pie. Do you like pie?”

Shion assured him he did. Rikiga wandered over to the mangy sofa set against the wall and Shion and Nezumi exchanged a loaded look. Rikiga knocked on the wall and pressed his right hand against its peeling paper. The wall slid soundlessly to the side, revealing another room beyond.

“Fancy that,” Nezumi tsked. “Someone has friends in high places.”

Rikiga ignored his leer and ushered Shion politely inside.


	18. The Desperate and the Dead

Rikiga’s secret room was sumptuous. The walls were painted a brilliant shade of red, and thick, patterned carpet stretched over the floor, so soft looking that Shion wanted to shuck his shoes off and bury his toes in it. A fireplace with a white stone surround stood at the head of the room, its redwood mantel proudly displaying a few small artworks.

Rikiga stooped down and lit a fire on the hearth.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, wiping his palms on his pants. “I’ll brew some coffee.” Rikiga disappeared into an adjoining room, and soon the air filled with the warm, deep aroma of luxury. Shion took a long breath through his nose and savored it.

Nezumi perused the space with narrowed eyes, studying at first the leather chairs and couch, roving to the lacquered, silk draped table, and settling at last on the roaring fireplace.

“This is really nice,” Shion murmured. He ran a hand over the back of the nearest chair. The leather was smooth and crisp beneath his fingers.

“No kidding. Makes our house look like a hovel.”

Shion made a noise in the back of his throat which he hoped would serve as a sound of agreement, and quickly turned his face toward the fire. _Our house_. He bit down on his bottom lip, trying to tame the smile tugging at its corners. _Nezumi said ‘our house.’_

“Looks like the mutt’s intel was good.” Nezumi sniffed. “This guy’s got it made.”

Rikiga came out of the back room carrying a tray. He lay two steaming cups of dark coffee on the table and placed a tumbler of whiskey in the seat closest to himself.

“Come sit, Shion,” Rikiga said, and cut into the pie on the tray. “Do you need any milk or sugar? Or whipped cream for your pie? I can grab them if you do.”

Nezumi slipped into the nearest chair. “I would like some whipped cream.”

“Shion?” Rikiga repeated with a tad more force. He dished a slice of pie to the last empty chair, but graced Nezumi with neither food nor his attention.

Shion smiled nervously. “Erm… Some milk would be good. And whipped cream.”

“Stingy,” Nezumi grumbled as Rikiga left the room. He took a sip from his coffee cup and hummed in approval before helping himself to the pie. “The old man sure favors you.”

Shion sat and took a small bite of his pie. It was sweet potato, not one of his favorite flavors, but at that moment Shion swore he had never tasted anything more divine. He had been in West Block barely over a week, but that was enough to reprogram his taste buds. Shion had grown used to bland bread and soup, so the creamy taste of the sweet potato pie, plus the earthy aroma of the coffee were ecstasy. Shion shoveled another bite of pie into his mouth, closed his eyes, and sighed as he chewed.

“Maybe he’s your dad.”

Shion coughed, but quickly clapped a hand over his mouth before any pie crumbs could fly out. “What?”

“Rikiga. Your mom sent us to him, of all people, and he treats you like your god’s gift to West Block. So maybe he’s your dad.”

Shion considered this, but he really didn’t want to. “I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “We look nothing alike. And Mom said my dad left us to go traveling.”

“_Traveling_? In the Deadlands?” Nezumi’s eyebrows shot up. “Shion. Either your dad’s a badass, or your mama wasn’t telling the truth.”

Shion paused. The last time he’d asked his mother about his father’s whereabouts he had been six years old, but even at that age, Shion was aware of how ridiculous her answer sounded. The dangers of the outside world were pounded into No. 6 citizens from the moment they were old enough to comprehend it. He suspected there was more to the story, or that his mother wasn’t being entirely honest, but he trusted she had her reasons.

He’d had no interest in prising the truth from her at the time, and as he got older, he realized he didn’t much care where his father was. The man was a stranger.

But ever since Shion had been exposed to the world outside of No. 6, he started to wonder as he hadn’t before. There were people like Nezumi and Inukashi, after all, people living outside the quarantine zones, leading hard, but relatively normal lives. Despite Nezumi’s doubt, it might have been possible that his father was out wandering the Deadlands somewhere, or settled in a town like West Block.

Or he could be in West Block.

Shion frowned as he pondered this.

Rikiga returned, and Shion thanked him for the milk as filled his coffee. He nudged the whipped cream to Nezumi when Rikiga was distracted with the pie.

“Mr. Rikiga, how do you know my mom?”

Rikiga threw back a gulp of his whiskey. “Ah, well… Karan and I were friends way back when. I used to work as a journalist, you know.” He swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Karan saw one of my articles and came to ask me about it. Fought through a rainstorm to do it, if you can believe that!”

Rikiga laughed and Shion smiled. He could imagine his mother doing something like that. The note Karan had written laid on the tray, and Rikiga stared down at it, eyes wet with memories of the good old days.

“I was flattered such a pretty young lady liked my work that much.”

“This is great backstory and all,” Nezumi started, but paused as the whipped cream nozzle shrieked over his pie. He coated the entire top of his slice and then set aside the canister and continued, “But unless this is leading up to the shocking revelation that Shion’s your long lost son, then let’s just skip to the good part. Mainly, why Karan thought you could be of use to us.”

Rikiga’s expression hung poised between confuddlement and offense. “Shion’s not my son. Karan and I were just friends.”

“Ah,” said Nezumi, slipping a piece of pie into his mouth with the dainty judgment of a tea party gossip. “Friend-zoned, huh? My condolences.”

Rikiga’s face flushed. “Now look here, Eve! It wasn’t like that. I never confessed, so I wasn’t rejected. There _could have_ been a chance, but the quarantine happened, so we’ll never know, now would we?”

“Sure, sure.” Nezumi turned to Shion and shrugged. “Guess you were right. And lucky you were, because judging by this display,” he gestured to Rikiga’s fuming figure, “your mama dodged one hell of a bullet.”

Shion sunk lower in his chair and sipped at his coffee without making eye contact with anyone. Rikiga’s color went up again, but this time it was from embarrassment.

“Erm…” Rikiga took another sip of his tumbler and cleared his throat. “What I _meant_ to say, Shion, is that Karan was a beautiful woman and I respected her. If she wanted to date me, I would have said yes in a heartbeat, but she never gave me the signal, so…”

Rikiga scrunched his nose and decided about five sentences too late that maybe he should stop talking about crushing on Shion’s mom when Shion was sitting right across from him. A moment of awkward pie poking and coffee sipping passed, during which Nezumi was the only one who appeared unaffected.

“You said you knew my mother before the quarantine?” Shion asked Rikiga.

“Yes, that’s right. I have photos here somewhere...” He twisted around in his chair and rummaged through the cabinet behind him until he found a leatherbound book. Rikiga flipped it open and pushed it across the table.

Shion blinked. His mother, ten years younger, smiled back at him from the pages. Wind ruffled the skirt of her sleeveless summer dress, and her fingers were threaded in her hair as she tried to keep it back from her face. Laughter shone in her eyes, and Shion knew this photo was not posed, but one of those rare candids that perfectly captured its subject in the act of living.

Shion also knew that the woman in this photo was not quite the person who raised him. Though his mother had grown more active and optimistic after she moved to Lost Town, No. 6 had dulled her shine. This younger Karan looked bolder, more prone to laughter. She was a wildfire eager to catch.

Nezumi leaned over. “Hm. You look like her.”

“The spitting image,” Rikiga agreed, eyes watery.

Shion smiled and brushed the edge of the photo with his thumb. He missed his mother every day, but looking at her young smiling face now, longing and regret needled his chest like a burr.

“She’s a tough woman, your mom,” Rikiga said. “Tougher than most of us…”

Shion and Nezumi glanced up, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Rikiga stared down into his whiskey.

“Karan asked me once to investigate the infection.”

“Now we’re talking,” hissed Nezumi. He leaned forward onto the table. “Don’t clam up now, old man. What about the infection?”

“It was early.” Rikiga leaned back, his eyes glazing as he traveled into the past. “At that time there were only a few cases; we had no idea we had an epidemic on our hands. Karan wanted to know whether I had any thoughts about the disease’s origin.”

“And?” Nezumi prompted.

“Well… It was complicated. Theories about patient zero and where they could have contracted the disease were all over the place. Most epidemics are mutations of diseases transferred from animals to humans.”

“Yeah, and? Everyone knows that,” Nezumi scoffed.

Rikiga paused to glare at the dark-haired teen. “_You_ might know this stuff, Eve, because you’re a goddamned zombie fanboy, but not everyone does. Explaining the basic facts is important for including the less informed audience.” Rikiga threw a hand out toward Shion. “_He_ might not know anything about it.”

Nezumi barked a laugh. “I guarantee you, Shion probably knows more about how diseases work than the both of us put together. He was major elite before he fell from the city’s good graces. Plus,” he lilted, “he’s had firsthand experience with the infection. Isn’t that right, Shion?” Nezumi tugged one of his snowy locks.

Shion swatted his hand. “Quit it.”

In truth, Shion did already know about how animal diseases mutated and infected humans, but pointing out that fact wasn’t worth the irritation or interruption it caused.

Rikiga’s dark eyes surveyed the interaction with evident disapproval. His large arms folded tightly across his chest.

“I used to admire you, Eve,” said Rikiga. “I remember the first time I saw you—you were reading a poem, something by Coleridge or Eliot, I think. You looked so innocent and elegant on stage. I had never seen anything—or _anyone_—more beautiful.”

“Why, thank you,” Nezumi said, though the sparkle in his eye told all that he eagerly awaited the pivot point.

Rikiga’s mouth twisted, tilting his mustache askance. “I’m disappointed to discover you’re such a little bastard in the flesh.”

Nezumi’s mouth stretched into a smile that managed to be equal parts lovely and terrifying. “That’s why it’s called ‘acting,’ ” he purred. “And I’ve never read a Coleridge poem. Eliot, however...” He straightened in his seat and spoke out in a calm, cool voice,

“_And indeed there will be time_

_ For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,_

_ Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;_

_ There will be time, there will be time_

_ To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet..._”

Nezumi twisted to Shion and snapped his fingers. “Poem?”

“ ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.’ ” Shion smiled dreamily. “I really like that one.”

Nezumi smirked. “Good taste. Wanna try reciting the rest of the stanza?”

Shion flustered, glancing quickly at Rikiga. “No thanks… Apparently, I recite like a wooden dummy, so...”

Nezumi chuckled, but let the matter drop. “How about you, old man? No? Alright, then how about this one?” The merry expression on his face evaporated, replaced by grim sobriety and flat intonation.

“It is with a heavy heart that the nations of this world declare retreat. We cannot continue to fight against an invisible enemy that never sleeps and never tires. Our only choice for salvation is to remove ourselves from the danger, to build up our walls and strengthen our defenses. All the nations of this world have agreed to enact an immediate quarantine until such a time arrives when we are able to find a cure for the encroaching disease, or else find another means to eradicate it. The remaining nations agree to split our land into six equal zones, and all who are healthy will be taken in, protected, and provided every comfort we can afford. Each of these six quarantine zones also agree to dedicate medical and scientific research teams to investigate the infection, and develop defenses to combat it. It is our ardent hope that this solution will be temporary, that someday everyone on this earth will be free of any threat to their life—whether it be the sickness, or even war, famine, or other catastrophe—but in order to achieve such a world, this first, hard step must be taken.”

Nezumi finished his recitation with a sour look, as if the words he spoke were the coarsest profanity.

Shion frowned. Where had Nezumi read the Salvation Edict? He didn’t see any copies in the library.

Rikiga tossed back the remainder of his whiskey and set the glass down on the table with a grunt. “Good memory you’ve got there. You’re no ordinary kid. I’ve actually done some asking around about you. No one knows your real name or your roots, not even that playhouse manager of yours. Why all the mystery?”

“Snoop into my backstory on your own time.” Nezumi pushed the photo album across the table. “Let’s get back to this. Why did Karan want you to look into the infection?”

“Karan had some ideas,” Rikiga sighed. “There had been a forest fire a week or two before the outbreak. She wanted me to look into it, see if there was a connection.”

“And did you?”

Shion peered sidewise at Nezumi. He was gripping the neck of his fork hard enough to choke, every muscle rigid. Shion wasn’t sure why the answers were so important, but he’d noticed that Nezumi possessed a more than typical hatred for the infection and No. 6. 

Rikiga shook his head. “I wasn’t able to. I tried, but before I could dig anything up, the government announced they were moving forward with the Salvation Edict. All of a sudden, they were building the wall, there were police and soldiers posted everywhere. If you so much as coughed the wrong way, they’d say you were infected and push you to the outskirts. They _said _the quarantine was to protect the healthy from the infected, but the reality was that they were handpicking the survivors to best suit their needs. Anyone they thought of as a problem was forced out under the convenient guise of quarantine. And you can bet journalists were high up on their blacklist.

“I couldn’t even get close to Karan once their plan was in motion. And once the wall was up and the doors locked, what was the point of digging anymore? Who would listen? West Block is full of nothing but the desperate and the dead, and neither have ears for conspiracy theories.”

Rikiga glared down at the open photo album. “Salvation Edict,” he muttered. “What a load of crap. You know, sometimes I think the government let the infection get as bad as it did just so they could sequester themselves inside those walls and live in their so-called utopia.”

“Now there’s an idea,” said Nezumi. The coffee had cooled to room temperature during their conversation, and Nezumi drained the rest of his and set it down on the table. “Corrupt bastards. Living in their pretty fortress, preying on the weak and stepping on the less fortunate in order to rise to the top.”

“You’re damn right. Fuck those guys. They’re the lowest of the low.”

Rikiga raised his empty tumbler in salute, but Nezumi’s mug stayed where it was on the table. His grey eyes glowed the warning color of storm clouds.

“I see,” Nezumi mused. The tension in his body slackened. He laid his fork on his plate, still heaped with pie and dripping whipped cream.

On any other person, this sudden calm would be a positive sign, an indication of understanding or resignation. But Shion knew better than to take Nezumi’s body language at face value; like a predator, Nezumi’s stillness was a precursor to pouncing.

“So when No. 6 slammed its pearly gates in your face, you decided, eh, fuck it. You let go of all that lofty ambition and fell in with the rest of us West Block degenerates, selling porno mags to make ends meet.”

Rikiga shrugged his massive shoulders. “Well, yeah. What else was I supposed to do? There wasn’t much to report on after the quarantine, and once the infection really started to take hold, _Latch Bill_ was overrun and I was out of a job for real. I had to make a living somehow.”

“Of course. So how many magazines would you say you sell a week?”

“Hm? Oh, uh… Well...” Rikiga paused.

A light smile slipped onto Nezumi’s face. “They must be flying off the shelves if you can’t even give me an estimate.”

Rikiga narrowed his eyes, and when another tense moment inched by, Nezumi sighed goodnaturedly. “Let’s be generous and say ten a week. And you couldn’t be selling them for more than three coppers—any more and your customers’ money would be better spent on the real thing. So that’s about one silver coin per week. And yet...” Nezumi craned his neck and looked about the room, “this place is dripping with gold. What’s your secret?”

Rikiga’s mouth opened and closed a few times. He cleared his throat. “I know how to stretch coin when it comes to it. And... of course, I have some savings from when I did decent work.”

Nezumi sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Ohh, no. I don’t think so. What with your alcoholism and taste for women, I can’t imagine you hold onto your money for very long.”

Rikiga’s face darkened. “Look, you think I’m proud of living like this? You think I like that I look like shit and women are trying to stab me for breaking up with them? I don’t. But the fact remains that we live nextdoor to a mob of corpses, so if I need a little drink and the occasional company to get me through the days, then so be it.”

Shion glanced between the two. A sickening feeling rose in his gut. The tension in the room was a black tide, and he knew Rikiga would be pulled under any second now.

“Sure,” Nezumi said, “you’re entitled to your bitterness and shame. But that doesn’t get you anything here.”

“Everyone knows that,” Rikiga snapped.

“Yes, they do. So what’s a little more on the ledger?” Nezumi leaned back in his chair. “Word is, No. 6 officials like to stop by here and ask you for favors.”

Rikiga’s mouth clacked shut.

“I heard you handpick women to suit these officials’ tastes, and they pay you handsomely for your trouble. Guess that ambition’s not as dead as you thought, huh? It’s still got enough of a hold that you have no qualms lining your pockets with dirty money and exploiting women who have no other option but to sell themselves. If No. 6 is ‘the lowest of the low,’ and you’re taking orders from them, where does that place you on the corrupt bastard scale? I’m thinking between pathetic worm and scum of the earth.”

Rikiga’s Adam’s Apple bobbed with an audible gulp. “Who told you all that?”

“A dog. Scrappy little thing, very expensive, but they have the best nose this side of life.”

Shion fisted his hands in his lap. They were cold as ice despite the warmth of the fire at his back. The Rikiga he saw now was vastly different from the one who cried over memories of his mother just moments before.

“Alright,” Rikiga said. His mouth tilted into the bashful half smile of a wrong-doer caught red-handed. “Since you know all about it, why don’t you join me?”

“Join you?” A low, dark chuckle escaped Nezumi’s throat. “Headhunting for women?”

“No, of course not. That’s a waste of your,” Rikiga gestured up and down at him, “particular skill set. You’d be much more successful if you took on clients. The officials at No. 6 are picky bastards, they get bored easily and it’s hard for me to find ladies that fit their criteria. But you! You’re a master actor and seducer; they’d never get bored of you. You’d have them eating out of the palm of your hand!”

Shion’s grip tightened on his coffee cup. A bit of the muddy liquid sloshed over the lip.

Nezumi leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fist. “My, what a silver tongue you have when it suits you. Do you talk to all your whores this way?”

Rikiga’s eyes sparkled greedily. “Was that a yes?”

“No,” scoffed Nezumi. “I already have a job, old man.”

“The playhouse is pennies!” Rikiga paused. “Unless you mean raiding?”

Nezumi’s face remained impassive and Rikiga nodded to himself.

“Yeah, sure, raiding pays well—but only if you make it back from the Deadlands with your health intact. Wouldn’t you rather get more money for less risk? Take a few clients, one or two to start. I guarantee you’ll be rolling in coin before the month is up.”

“Why don’t you take clients instead? Surely there are No. 6 officials bored enough to find novelty in a fat, drunk geezer.”

Rikiga sneered. “Laugh all you want, but I’m offering you a good deal. You’re wasting your potential where you are now. I would bet my life that you’re no innocent. A kid from nowhere, looking like _that_? I’d bet you’ve had loads of experience—”

“_Shut up!_”

Rikiga had barely enough time to register Shion’s fury before Shion flung his coffee cup at him. The mug clipped his shoulder and its half finished contents sloshed onto his face and over his shirt. Shion leapt over the table and knocked Rikiga out of his chair.

“Shut your filthy mouth!” snarled Shion, pinning the older man to the ground. “How dare you talk to Nezumi like that! Apologize to him _right now_.”

Shion pulled the knife from his back pocket and unsheathed it. He hadn’t remembered putting it in there until this moment, but he was glad he had it now.

Rikiga’s eyes bulged as the tip of the knife hovered above him. “Shion, wait! Please! I’m sorry!”

“Alright, Lancelot.” Hands slipped under Shion’s armpits and dragged him up and back from Rikiga’s blubbering form. “That’s enough righteous indignation. Gimme that.”

Nezumi plucked the knife from Shion’s hand as easily as he had from the enraged woman and sheathed it again. Shion clenched his teeth as he watched Rikiga scoot back, but then Nezumi stepped into his sightline.

“That was new,” Nezumi said, his face alight with surprise. “I didn’t think you had it in you to go apeshit on someone— Whoa!”

Shion burst into tears. His body quivered and there were so many terrible feelings crowding his head that he didn’t know what to do, so he cried harder.

“Shion, what—”

“Why aren’t you angry?”

“Angry?”

“Yes!” Shion shouted. He smacked Nezumi in the chest with his fist and Nezumi took a step back. “He was degrading you! He said horrible things and you— You just—!” Fresh tears burned down his cheeks.

“Shion,” Nezumi said softly. He stepped closer to him again. “I hear that stuff all the time. I’m used to it.”

“That’s worse! I don’t wanna hear that!” Shion swiped at his face with his shirtsleeves, but it felt like he was only smearing his snot and tears around more.

“You can’t take it personally, Shion,” Nezumi huffed. “Your face looks terrible. Wipe it with this.”

Nezumi yanked the silk tablecloth towards him. The objects on its surface jumped as he pulled, clattering noisily. The whiskey tumbler hopped onto its side and rolled off the edge of the table, shattering brightly on the floor.

“Hey!” yelped Rikiga. “You broke my glass.”

“Yeah?” snorted Nezumi. “You’re lucky Shion didn’t break your face.”

Rikiga pursed his lips and was silent. Shion wiped the wetness from his nose, eyes, and chin with the tablecloth and pouted, suddenly ashamed.

“There we are,” Nezumi said with a light laugh. “Geez. You’re something else. It was me who got insulted, and yet you’re the one bawling your eyes out. You shouldn’t waste your tears on other people, Shion. And you definitely shouldn’t get into fights for them. Fight and cry only for yourself.”

Shion sniffled. “That’s stupid.”

Nezumi’s face scrunched. “You’re stupid.”

Shion couldn’t help but laugh then. Nezumi looked genuinely put off by Shion’s dismissal of his advice.

“Ahem…”

The two boys turned. Rikiga hovered by the edge of the table. He was a sorry sight, covered in milky coffee and hunched over like a scolded pet.

“Eh… I’m sorry, Shion—and Eve. I… I shouldn’t have said those things. I guess my morals have rotted right through. Thank you for setting me straight.”

Shion’s face flushed. He couldn’t believe he was being thanked for assaulting someone. He bowed his head and mumbled back, “I’m sorry I attacked you. And broke your glasses.”

Shion glanced down at the floor where the shattered tumbler lay. The handle of the mug he’d thrown had cracked off as well, and lay like a small, pale body beneath the table.

“Great,” Nezumi chriped. “Now that we’ve cleared the air, I think it’s time we left. Before Shion pummels you again.”

“Alright,” said Shion. “Just let me…” He drifted over to the table and began fixing the overturned objects.

“Really? You’re going to clean?”

Shion didn’t acknowledge Nezumi and continued setting the table to rights. Rikiga disappeared into the adjoining room and came back with a broom and dustpan. Nezumi groaned, but leaned down to pick up the album, which had fallen from the table in the scuffle. He slapped it open-faced onto the table and then froze.

Shion glanced at him. “Nezumi?”

Nezumi’s gaze flicked up to Rikiga. “What’s this?”

The older man came around the table and looked down at the photo. It was a group of people posed outside a nondescript building. Karan was in the center, smiling her fearless smile, but the rest were strangers to Shion.

“This is…” Rikiga tilted the photo towards himself. “Some of Karan’s friends. I don’t know much about them.”

“This guy.” Nezumi stabbed at one of the men’s faces. “You don’t remember anything about him? Come on; you were a journalist for god’s sake.”

Rikiga screwed his face to the side. “That guy? Hm. Oh, wait. Yeah, I think he was a member of the biological research team. That guy too.” He pointed at another face, then shrugged. “I never talked to him, though. I don’t know who he is.”

Shion joined Nezumi in staring down at the thin, shaggy haired man with the shy smile. “Do you know him?”

Nezumi’s hand curled into a fist. “I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 This is the last chapter I'll be posting for a bit. No. 6 Secret Santa is starting this weekend--Woo hoo! So that means end of Dec/beginning of Jan, we'll have over 60 contributions to the No. 6 fandom on tumblr and twitter.
> 
> I'm expecting to enter a big bang at the start of the new year (fingers crossed!), so I'll have to work on that story. But I'll see you on this one sometime in the new year <3


	19. Protecting the Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of this never-ending quarantine, I'm posting two new chapters of Quarantine :P  
I'm not going to keep up the schedule, though, after the two (still technically on hiatus. Sorry, I'm working on it |D)
> 
> Yes, this chapter is Karan, who I know isn't everyone's favorite to read about, but her part is necessary to document.

Karan’s hands shook as she placed the cheese and raisin muffins into the display case, but her smile stayed fixed on her face.

In the last few days, whenever a patron came into the bakery, they would go out of their way to compliment her positive attitude as they folded a few copper coins into her hand. Karan always returned their generosity with an outpouring of good cheer, and the patrons would leave, whispering to each other about what a kind and hardworking woman she was.

They didn’t know that Karan was faking it, that there was a darkness at the center of her which gnawed its way farther outward with every passing day. There was no one left in No. 6 who knew her well enough to recognize the anguish barely hidden behind her cheery expression.

“Ms. Karan! Can I get another cheese muffin, please?” A little girl hopped up and down behind the counter, her small pigtails swaying with the momentum. Her name was Lili, a child of no more than nine years. She was the only daughter of Karan’s friend Renka—though, perhaps not for long; Renka was expecting again and due this Spring.

Lili’s weekly visits were the only things that brought Karan any pleasure these days—but the child was also her greatest source of pain. Her exuberance reminded Karan of Shion when he was young.

_ Shion_. Karan’s smiled stuttered, but she caught it at the last second and ducked her head behind the muffin case.

“Here you are, Lili. And there’s a little extra in there for your mom.”

Karan handed the small girl a bag with cheese muffins and a few doughnuts. Renka was a long-time customer of the bakery and Karan’s closest friend. Since Renka had gotten pregnant with her second child, the woman had developed a craving for cinnamon sugar doughnuts, so Karan made sure to pack a few whenever Lili came in for a snack.

Lili’s eyes lit up when she saw the extra treats; they always did, despite the fact that she received them every week. Her consistency was part of her charm.

“Thank you, Ms. Karan!” Lili slipped three copper coins onto the counter, barked a farewell, and scurried out the door.

“What a sweet little girl,” crooned the elderly woman nursing her coffee at the furthest table. The woman was a widow and often came and spent an hour or two sipping her coffee and nibbling at a croissant, but she was so quiet and diminutive, Karan often forgot she was there.

Karan laughed lightly and agreed before she excused herself to the back of the bakery.

Once she was safe and alone in the dark, she let the façade drop. _Shion_, Karan’s heart keened as she crouched down against the door. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, as if the pressure could keep the burn of tears at bay.

She hadn’t cried yet. She hadn’t cried when the Security Bureau came to her door and told her—tersely, callously—that Shion had been arrested for public disturbance and murder. _Murder_. As if Shion could ever have done such a thing.

She wanted to vomit when she heard the words drip from their tightly drawn lips, because she knew that it was a lie, and that everyone knew it, but no one would dare contradict the official story. She knew that she would have to nod, and murmur, and pretend she swallowed down their vile lies, and then _keep on living_. As if there was any living to be done when half your soul has been torn from your chest.

Karan had known others who had lost someone, and those who had disappeared without a trace. Once someone was taken by the Security Bureau, they were erased, and their loved ones were expected to delete them from the collective memory. But the lost were never truly forgotten; their shadows hung over the places they’d been, perceivable in the way conversation hushed when one walked by a certain house or park bench, or in the moments when your neighbor could no longer look you in the eye when they spoke of last summer.

Karan refused to accept anyone’s pity, refused to let anyone know how deeply Shion’s disappearance had crippled her heart. This wasn’t the first time No. 6 had laid her low. Four years ago, they had taken her livelihood, her privileges, and her home, but she had bounced back.

Except last time she had Shion. She had support, someone to stay strong for. Now there was only her.

_ Shion. My baby, my boy._ The weight of the unknown pressed down on her day by day, until it was hard even to breathe. _I don’t know what to do_. _I don’t know if I can do this alone._

Karan curled her head between her knees and let the tears roll down her cheeks. She felt ashamed and carved out and utterly hopeless. A quiet sob shook her ribs—and something pinched Karan’s ankle. She flinched and bumped her head against the door.

Karan sniffled and checked her ankle. The skin was irritated, and a small, brown mouse was sitting by her shoe, staring up into her face with round, grape-colored eyes. Karan wiped the tears from her chin and blinked down at the rodent. She felt like she should be worried that a mouse had bitten her, but she was having trouble feeling anything but mystified. Mice were rare in No. 6; the Health & Hygiene Bureau carefully monitored the animal population to eliminate disease-carrying creatures, and rodents were high on the list.

The mouse chirruped and spat a small, white capsule at her feet. Karan’s brow furrowed further in confusion. She didn’t move, and after ten seconds or so, the mouse squeaked and stood up on its hindlegs, as though chastising her for wasting time. Cautiously, Karan plucked the capsule from the floor and inspected it. A note was inside:

_ Shion is safe, worry not. Escaped to West Block. Be wary of Bureau surveillance. Any replies to this mouse. Brown brings news of safety, black brings news of change or abnormal occurrence. -Nezumi_

Karan read the message over and over, but the words refused to stick. She could only focus on “_Shion is safe.” _Karan’s eyes misted over again, but this time, it was the result of a deeper, brighter emotion than grief. Not hope, not love, not relief, but something a little like all of them and so much bigger.

Shion was safe.

The Bureau said they’d taken him to the Correctional Facility, that his case was pending, and she would be sent a communication in the next few weeks on whether Shion would be sentenced to life imprisonment or execution. The officers had been dispassionate when they related the news. The closest they’d come to emotion was when they told her never to speak Shion’s name aloud again, and then they’d looked merely put off by the fact they had to remind citizens not to advertise their feelings.

But this note shared a different story. Shion was not locked away in the Correctional Facility; he had escaped to West Block. Karan didn’t know if she could believe it—but she _wanted _to believe it. If Shion had somehow escaped imprisonment, that was a heavy weight lifted from her mind.

_ But… West Block?_ Karan knew there were still living people outside the wall, but they lived hard lives, and what’s more, they were surrounded by hordes of the infected. Every day held fresh danger.

But it was living, and Shion was free.

And he wasn’t alone.

_ Nezumi. _Karan studied the signature, and then the mouse still lingering by her shoe. The Nezumi who wrote the note was no ordinary mouse or rat; it was a particular one. _Nezumi. _The word tickled the back of her mind, and teased loose a memory she had not visited in a long while.

Shion often had his head in the clouds, but after they were ousted from Chronos, he seemed more introspective than ever. She found him staring out the window whenever he was unoccupied, and she noticed the way he straightened at every noise during a rainstorm. Karan always knew that the change had coincided with that wild, stormy night Shion had let a stranger into their home, but she wasn’t quite sure whether his contemplations were just that, or if they were a symptom of longing. The answer became clear one day when she and Shion were walking through the Forest Park, two months after the hurricane.

Shion’s eyes were faraway, his responses to her pleasantries short and uninvested. Karan had stopped engaging him and had been enjoying their walk through the florid park in silence, until Shion froze and turned abruptly. He glared at a patch of flowers with such hope and strain and attention that Karan couldn’t help but finally broach the subject.

“Who is this Nezumi you keep whispering about?”

Shion flinched and turned to her. “What?”

“Just now, you said, ‘Nezumi?’ I’ve heard you say it before. It’s a person’s name, isn’t it? You say it like it’s someone you know well. Someone you long for.” Karan tilted her head at the distress growing on Shion’s face. “Did that person break your heart?”

“What?” Shion sputtered. “No, it’s not like that at all.” A deep blush rose in his cheeks. “It’s… It’s nothing. Never mind,” he barked, and walked away as quickly as he could without looking guilty.

Shion’s embarrassment had made her laugh then, but now... Her heart swelled with gratitude. _Nezumi… You returned to him after all. You saved him._ _Thank you_.

Karan wiped the last remnants of her tears away and stood. A fresh surge of energy buzzed in her veins. Suddenly the world seemed less dark, the air less dense. Shion was alive, and he had his special someone by his side. She had found her hope again and her reason to keep on living: She may well see her son and his savior in the future.

But to do that, she had to protect her present. Karan glanced down at the note. _Be wary of Bureau surveillance._The Security Bureau was always watching, but now Karan realized they must be watching her more closely than ever.

Despite what they’d have her believe, Shion had escaped them; it was only natural that they’d want to keep her within their sights, to see if she knew his whereabouts or was likely to cause trouble. There could be pinhole cameras set up around her house, wire taps on her phone, customers planted to spy on her.

Karan carefully folded the small note into her apron and walked into the storage room. Flour dusted the floor, but she paid no mind as she kneeled down next to the jam boxes and ripped off a piece of packaging paper to write on.

She only knew of one person in West Block—or, at least, he had been there when the wall first came up. She hoped time or ill fate hadn’t claimed him. If it hadn’t, it was possible he would be willing to help Shion.

Karan jotted down his address in shorthand and paused. She wanted to ask Shion how he was doing. She wanted to know where he was now. Was he eating well? Was he warm enough? But she didn’t have space to worry over him like a mother hen. It would do neither of them any good, and she had been huddled in the darkness of the back room too long already.

Karan left the note as is and turned to find the mouse.

“Cheep!” came a small voice from the flour bags. The mouse stood on its hindlegs atop the bag nearest the door and twitched its nose at her.

Karan placed the rolled-up note down and the mouse snatched it in its mouth without a pause.

_ Thank you_ _and god-speed_, Karan prayed as the mouse disappeared through a crack in the wall.

Then she arranged her face into a pleasant expression and strode out into the bright daylight of the bakery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Karan... But her son is more than safe... and the second chapter I'll post tomorrow! And it involves Shion and Nezumi, and some of my favorite things: weapons.


	20. Safety

“Great,” Nezumi drawled. “But this time, hit the target.”

Shion’s arms ached, as did his fingers. The gun in his hands was hard and cold, and heavier than he ever could have imagined, given its size. Though he never imagined himself _holding a gun_.

The citizens of No. 6 had no need for weapons, and the Babylon Treaty made it so only those charged with protecting the zones from feral attack could carry firearms. Shion had had a few classmates who aspired to become part of the Security Bureau, specifically so they could volunteer for wall patrol and shoot a rifle, but Shion had never been interested.

The gun Shion held now was not a rifle, but a handgun. Nezumi had told him the make and model when he handed it over, but Shion’s heart had been pounding too hard in his ears for the info to register.

“How can you be this bad_?_ I was never so terrible.”

Nezumi made a sound that was very nearly a sigh, but he caught himself at the last moment. Shion had noticed this was a frequent thing with Nezumi, but he’s not sure why he’s so adverse to sighing.

“I’m trying,” Shion mumbled. “It’s not easy.”

He lowered the gun, his hands shaking, and toggled the safety on before pulling the borrowed earmuffs down to rest around his neck. The goggles Nezumi provided as makeshift eye protectors he did not touch. He was pretty sure they were the very same goggles that Nezumi had given him to wade through the sewage during their escape from No. 6.

Nezumi pulled his own earmuffs down. “I never said it was easy, but you’d think you’d show at least _a little_ improvement in the last hour.”

Nezumi eyed the target. It was a series of concentric circles drawn onto the wall in felt-tipped marker. Nezumi had drawn several to practice on, some large, some quite small. He had even traced a human silhouette on the wall for Shion’s amusement.

Shion had been amused earlier, but his good humor evaporated as soon as Nezumi held the gun out to him. Until Nezumi pressed the biting metal into his hand and began to instruct him on the safety and loading procedures, Shion hadn’t truly believed Nezumi meant him to handle a gun.

His hands sweated on the grip, and his biceps hadn’t stopped feeling like they were vibrating since they had absorbed the recoil of his first shot.

“I think you’ve got a good constellation in the making,” Nezumi said, “but you’re far from a star marksman.”

“Maybe you’re just a shit teacher,” Inukashi called down from the balcony. They leaned against the railing, rifle up and eye glued to the scope, scanning the horizon.

When Nezumi had woken Shion at the crack of dawn and dragged him to the hotel, Shion had no idea what was in store for him. Neither did Inukashi, apparently. They threw a fit when Nezumi pushed his way into the lobby and announced that he was renting the space out for target practice.

Inukashi quieted, though, when Nezumi had tossed them a bag of silver.

“This is for borrowing my home for the morning?”

“And for your service as lookout. I think we’d all prefer this to be a No Undead zone.”

Inukashi opened the bag and poked around while Nezumi looked on with a bored expression. But both their eyes were bright with calculation. Shion had seen enough of Inukashi and Nezumi’s interactions to know that a bargaining was about to begin.

“This amount is good for a few hours,” Inukashi concluded. “But if you need me to take care of any party crashers, I’m going to need more.”

Nezumi lifted his chin. “More coin?”

“More ammo.”

“Ammo?” Nezumi’s voice was placid, but in the hushed sort of way that evoked the stillness of a meadow seconds before the adder’s strike.

Inukashi was no hapless innocent, however. They crossed their arms over their chest and met Nezumi’s icy gaze with equal parts fire. “Yes. Unless dandelion puff here shows surprising talent, you’ll be here a while, attracting every zombie in West Block. I expect you to reimburse me for every round I’m forced to fire on your behalf.”

“That seems fair, Nezumi,” Shion hazarded.

Nezumi and Inukashi turned on him.

“Stay out of this,” Nezumi hissed.

Inukashi glanced between them and then flashed their canines at Shion. “Thanks for backing me up, Shion; I knew I liked you.” They turned the feral grin on Nezumi. “Look at that, your boyfriend thinks it’s a fair exchange. And since you’re doing this for him—I’m assuming—” Inukashi’s eyes flitted between them, something dangerous in their assessment “—that’s the deal. Take it, or you can play wall patrol yourself.”

Nezumi looked ready to throttle someone, and Shion felt he was just as likely a candidate as Inukashi.

“You’ll have your ammo,” Nezumi growled.

Inukashi’s expression brightened, but Shion wilted. Nezumi was going to be miffed the whole morning now. He should have known better than to speak for him. Nezumi was always telling him to only think and act for himself and no other.

Shion dropped his gaze, and it landed on one of the dogs lumbering in the gloom near the wall. It was a shaggy breed, and its coat was dirty and mud-matted from the recent rain. The dog panted from carrying the extra weight around, and sunk down to the floor after a few steps.

“I can wash your dogs for you,” Shion blurted.

For the second time in as many minutes, Inukashi and Nezumi turned to him.

“As you said, Nezumi’s doing this for me”—_Even if I don’t _want _him to_—“so it only makes sense that I should offer to repay you as well.”

“Shion.” Nezumi’s voice was a low warning that Shion chose to disregard.

“I don’t have any money or skills right now, but I know how to clean, and I’m a hard worker.”

Inukashi studied him. Shion had no idea what thoughts were running behind those dark, calculating eyes, but he held their gaze, hoping to be found worthy.

“Deal,” said Inukashi.

They snatched Shion’s hand and gave it a hard shake.

“There was literally _no_ _reason_ to—” Nezumi hissed, threw up his hands, and turned away.

Inukashi watched the display with explicit amusement and said to Shion, “Until Nezumi makes good on the ammo, you’ll come twice a week to wash the dogs. For free.”

Despite Nezumi’s disapproval, Shion had felt a burst of pride for contributing to the arrangement.

Now, with the gun in his hand and an hour of failed attempts weighing on him, Shion felt nothing but choking fear.

“By all means, Inukashi,” Nezumi called up to them, “if you think you can succeed with Shion, then come down and do it. My pride won’t suffer for it; all I care about is that I can trust Shion to blow a zombie’s head off if ever the occasion arises.”

“I’m too busy keeping lookout up here to do your job as well,” Inukashi snapped. “_Someone_ decided to make a racket and waste dozens of rounds teaching a talentless amateur, and now I’ve got every zombie within hearing distance shambling to my door.”

In perfect punctuation of the point, Inukashi’s shoulders squared and they fired through the second-storey window. The shot made barely a sound. Inukashi had some sort of suppressor affixed to their gun, and the window they were firing through was already devoid of glass.

“That’s one magazine,” they called down to Nezumi, voice suddenly cheery.

Shion bit his lip. “Sorry, Inukashi…”

“Don’t apologize to them; apologize to _me_,” Nezumi said, arching an eyebrow. “The mutt is getting paid to do their job, while I’m doing this for free. Those are my blanks you’re wasting. Imagine if they were real bullets. Do you know how valuable those are?”

Shion sighed. “Then why are you teaching me? I never asked to learn how to shoot.”

“And I never asked to be saddled with you, but what’s done is done, and I’m not keeping company with someone who can’t cover my back. Do you want to be useless deadweight all your life?”

“…No.”

“Well, then.” Nezumi moved to his side. “It’s not that hard, Shion. Let’s go over this again. Lean forward a bit. Hold the grip with both hands, thumb-over-thumb.”

Shion did as he was told, keeping the gun aimed down at the ground, just in case.

“Good; we don’t want any pinched fingers, do we? And when we fire, we…?”

“Take two deep breaths, and then hold my breath when I squeeze the trigger to keep the aim steady. And squeeze slowly, not hard or fast.”

“Good boy.”

Shion speared him with a look. Nezumi snorted and snapped Shion’s earmuffs over his head again before placing his own. Shion tried not to sweat too much as Nezumi guided him to stand in position to fire at the human-shaped target.

“Just relax, alright? You can do it,” Nezumi said and stepped away from him.

Shion drew in a shuddering breath and raised the gun, toggling the safety off and chambering the round. He squeezed the trigger, tensing up and gritting his teeth against the shock of the muzzle blast.

The shot went wide, and Shion released a moan of frustration that was almost a sob. He toggled the safety back into place.

“Can I move closer?”

“You’re already pretty close,” Nezumi said, a trifle testy. “You should be able to hit the damn target.”

“Okay, but,” Shion said desperately, “we’re doing this so that I’ll be comfortable enough with a gun to shoot zombies that come near me, right? So I would only need to shoot when they’re really close, and they move slow, so I should be able to get close enough that it’s impossible to miss. That should work, right?”

“Yes, that’s true; one zombie is usually slow and not much danger, but that doesn’t mean you should underestimate them. Have you ever seen a rabid dog, Shion?”

“No.”

Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “Of course you haven’t. No. 6 wouldn’t have such things, would it?”

Shion chewed his lower lip. He knew No.6 was a sham, but he felt an urge to defend his education anyway.

“I do know about rabies, though! They covered the virus in our biology classes, since the symptoms are so similar to the infection. Did you know that in the first wave, scientists believed the strain was a mutation of rabies? They never found any connection, though, as far as I know. In fact, the school assemblies never really discussed the origin—”

“Okay, new tactic,” Nezumi cut him off. “Just pretend all the zombies are airheaded boys who spout facts you didn’t ask to hear. Then it should be easy to drum up the urge to shoot them in the face.”

Shion’s mouth hung open, still poised to explain what he knew of the infection’s background. He closed his mouth. Scowled. Tried to cross his arms, but then remembered the gun was still in his hand and hastily abandoned the idea.

“You’re extremely disagreeable,” he huffed at Nezumi.

Nezumi fixed him with a mirthless smile. “Perhaps the problem here is you don’t have enough motivation to succeed?”

Shion tensed as Nezumi approached. The levity in his tone never boded well for those on the receiving end.

“Maybe you need to feel threatened in order to get over your whining and do something productive.”

Nezumi hooked a finger under Shion’s chin and tilted his face up. Shion tried not to have too much of a reaction. Nezumi touched him seldom, and he always did so with an ulterior motive—a motive that wasn’t what Shion wanted it to be.

And yet, reminding himself of this didn’t stop his heart from rabbiting, or quell the warmth coiling in his stomach.

“What do you think?”

The cold edge of Nezumi’s knife whispered against the side of Shion’s throat and his pulse jolted.

“I don’t—” Shion took a step back and pushed Nezumi’s arm away with his free hand—“_appreciate_ that. Don’t point your knife at me. Not even as a joke.”

Nezumi only smirked and Shion’s anger rose.

“I’m serious. Point that thing at me again, and I swear to god, I will punch you.”

“Oh, really?” Nezumi’s mouth curled into a vicious grin. He stepped forward and leaned down until he was so close Shion was forced to tip his head back and away.

“Tell you what, Shion. If you manage to land a punch on me, I’ll kiss you.”

The fire burning in Shion’s chest sputtered out. He searched Nezumi’s playful expression, but his mind was blank and he had difficulty making heads or tails of it. “You… You’re incentivizing me to punch you?”

Nezumi’s grey eyes flashed with amusement. “Not really. It’s not like it’ll ever happen; you won’t be able to lay a finger on me unless I let you.”

“Is that so?” Shion wanted to sound light, but his mouth twisted peevishly. Nezumi was always so full of himself. He wanted to land a punch just to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face.

But Shion pushed that to the back of his mind. He would certainly not be able to catch Nezumi unawares now, when the temptation was so alive between them.

Inukashi’s voice floated down from the balcony. “Are you done shooting?”

“Not quite,” Nezumi answered, his gaze still pinning Shion in place.

“Then what are you doing?”

“Giving Shion a pep talk.”

Nezumi chuckled to himself and finally stepped back. He slipped his knife into its holster and waved a hand toward the targets on the wall. “If His Majesty would be so kind.”

Shion eyed the wall, fresh determination singing in his blood. He raised the gun. Then paused and lowered it again. “And what if I hit the target this time?” He turned to Nezumi. “Do I get a kiss for that?”

Nezumi’s eyebrows shot up, but his surprise settled quickly. “Mm… No.”

Shion’s heart fluttered. Nezumi was not willing to make that bet, which meant that he thought there was a chance he might lose. Which meant he truly believed Shion was capable enough to hit the target.

Shion grinned. He felt buoyant, and proud, and raring to prove himself. He slid the safety and chambered a blank round.

Shion stared down the human silhouette on the wall, imagining the bullet exiting his gun and lodging in the plaster where the head was outlined. Nezumi was forgotten, Inukashi’s firing a distant sound. All that existed was this moment: Shion with the gun held out before him and something to live up to. He breathed in slow, held his breath for one, two, three, four seconds and squeezed the trigger.

The gun muzzle kicked and the plaster coughed up a plume of dust. The neck of the human target bore a small puncture where his bullet had struck.

Shion gasped and turned to Nezumi.

“Very nice,” he said, offering a small smile in response to Shion’s ecstasy. “Now again. But relax your shoulders. You keep tensing up right before you take a shot and it’s tipping your aim.”

Shion twisted his mouth to the side. “I’m afraid of the recoil.”

Nezumi nodded. “The 9mm is as gentle as you can get without sacrificing lethal power. You can handle the kickback.”

Shion glowed. Nezumi didn’t sound admonishing or derisive in the least, simply instructive. Matter of fact. He wanted nothing more than for Shion to succeed and to build his confidence. Shion didn’t know how he didn’t recognize it and cooperate sooner.

Nezumi didn’t drag him out here to punish him or shame him for his inexperience; he was letting Shion into his world. He was trusting him to have the self-reliance and wherewithal to stand at his side in times of danger.

Shion shot again, and this time grazed the edge of the target’s head. He grinned and fired again. By the time he emptied the magazine, he had been hitting on, or very near, his intended target every shot.

Shion practically skipped over to Nezumi. “I take it back; this is fun.”

“Now it’s fun.” Nezumi shook his head, but he looked pleased. “Let’s do one more round, then I’ll let you go.”

Shion passed the handgun to Nezumi. “You can keep me forever, if you’d like,” he said, and immediately regretted his phrasing.

Shion blushed, expecting Nezumi to make fun of him any second now, but Nezumi appeared too distracted ejecting the used magazine to have heard anything amiss. Which relieved Shion—but also disappointed him to some degree.

Nezumi walked him through the process of reloading for the second time, but Shion’s attention had been drawn to Nezumi’s hip holster.

“What, uh… caliber? Is that the right word…?” Nezumi raised his eyebrows at him. Shion swallowed his fluster and rephrased, “What kind of gun do you have?”

“A Glock 22. And you have a Glock 17.”

Shion nibbled his lower lip. None of that meant much to him. “Is yours is more powerful than mine?”

“The caliber is larger and it has more kick, but they both kill zombies, and that’s all that matters.” Nezumi clicked the new magazine into place and held the gun out to Shion.

“Can I try yours?”

Nezumi’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“I think it would be good to practice with a different gun.”

Shion had been doing so well with the one Nezumi had given him, he was eager to try out another. He was high off the one success; he could only imagine how good it would feel to pull off his improved aim with a second gun—and Nezumi’s own, no less. Then he would really believe he could face down a zombie.

“Just in case,” Shion added.

“In case what? I get eaten by a zombie and you need to take my gun?”

“No!” Shion’s heart seized at the thought. “I just meant— You never know what will happen in a real situation. I could lose my gun, or it could jam, or I could run out of rounds and have to grab someone else’s, and then, maybe… But maybe not.”

Nezumi’s expression grew steadily more amused as Shion talked, and Shion’s neck prickled and burned. He dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling silly. For all he knew, guns were very private things to their owners, and he was committing a faux pas by asking to test drive Nezumi’s.

“Never mind, actually. I’ll just take mine back.”

“No, no,” Nezumi said, retracting the Glock 17. “I wouldn’t dream of refusing a direct request from His Majesty. Not especially after you’ve done so well and are so eager to learn more.”

Nezumi traded Shion’s gun for his Glock 22. The two guns were nearly identical in look: sleek, titanium silver polymer and a chunky, squarish build. The weight was the only difference Shion could perceive; Nezumi’s gun was heavier. He felt the beginnings of butterflies in his stomach again.

“That has real bullets in it. Watch for the recoil,” Nezumi warned. “It’s not as nice as your 17. Make sure you lean a little forward, and hold tight around the grip.”

Shion nodded and approached the targets. _It’s alright_, he soothed himself as he prepared the gun for firing, _you’ve got this. Same gun, just a little bit of a step up._ He squared his stance, took a few steadying breaths, and raised the muzzle.

Shion was not prepared enough for the snap when he pulled the trigger. The bullet _thiwped_ high into the wall, and the muzzle bucked and struck back at him like a viper.

“Fuck,” Shion heard Nezumi hiss as the gun smashed him in the face.

Shion stumbled back a step and tried to blink the bright white flashes from his eyes. He couldn’t feel his nose, so he reached up to make sure it was still there. It was—and there was also blood.

“Uh, Nezumi?” he mumbled.

“Yeah, you hit yourself in the nose,” Nezumi said, voice calm, but he moved fast to Shion’s side and tugged the superfiber cloth from around his neck.

“I’m not using that!” Shion yelped and pushed it away. “That’s expensive!”

“We have to stop the bleeding, Shion. You don’t know—”

“The fuck just happened?” Inukashi barked.

Shion pinched the bridge of his nose and tipped his head back. He hadn’t had a bloody nose in years, so long ago he couldn’t even remember the last time. The sickly salty tang tickled the back of his throat, and the hand he held beneath his chin to catch the rivulets was hot and wet in seconds. A few droplets hit the lobby floor.

Inukashi had pulled their face away from their rifle sight and hung over the balcony to look down at them. “Is he bleeding?” Their voice went from angry to deadly serious in an instant. “What, are you an _idiot_? Get him out of here, Nezumi, before any of them catch the scent!”

“I know,” Nezumi snapped back. He grabbed Shion by the elbow and steered him toward the staircase.

Shion’s heart pounded as he was led through the second-floor hallways. Distantly, he could hear Inukashi firing their rifle.

_ Blood_. He remembered the way the zombie Nezumi teased all those weeks ago had gone berserk when it smelled Nezumi’s blood—and that had only been a prick of his finger.

Shion’s hand was coated in red.

Nezumi ushered him inside one of the hotel rooms and left him standing by the door. Shion pinched the bridge of his nose harder, begging the blood flow to stop. His marksmanship may have been improving, but he didn’t feel up to facing down a horde of hungry zombies just now.

The goggles he wore began to feel more uncomfortable with his nose starting to throb, but he couldn’t do anything with them with his hands occupied as they were.

Something brushed his legs and Shion skittered back in surprise, but it was only a dog. It had apparently followed them into the room, and as Shion watched, it licked up the drops of blood that escaped his fingers and landed on the floor.

“Here. Sit,” Nezumi said, and took him by the elbow again to set him down onto a bed. He pulled a chair up to sit across from Shion, and tugged the hand Shion held under his chin. “Let me see.”

Nezumi tugged Shion’s goggles and earmuffs down and pressed a cloth to Shion’s nose, firmly. Shion spent the next minute training himself to breath steadily through his mouth, and he felt stupid and overly loud every second of it.

“I’m sorry.”

Nezumi shook his head. “I shouldn’t have let you handle my gun so early. That was my fault.”

Shion’s stomach clenched. If Nezumi was admitting fault, then it must be _very_ dangerous to bleed so close to the fence line.

“I think it’s done,” Shion hazarded. His nostrils felt crusty, but not wet anymore.

He took the cloth from Nezumi and gently peeled it from where it had adhered to his nose. It was not a cloth, he realized upon further inspection, but a pillowcase. Inukashi was going to be furious, and no doubt demand reimbursement.

Shion studied the dark stain to avoid Nezumi’s stare, which he could feel sticking to his face as surely as the dried blood.

“You sure like to take other people’s stuff and use them as tissues,” Shion said after a moment.

“You sure like to make messes that I have to clean up.”

Shion’s shoulders bunched, but he didn’t have enough time to feel truly guilty before Nezumi plucked the pillowcase out of his hand and began scrubbing hard at the bloodstains on his chin. Shion protested in pain, but Nezumi was relentless.

“I’ve got it. You don’t need to— Ow!”

“You have to get all of the blood off before you’re allowed to go outside again. I’m not wasting any more bullets.”

“I _know_. I _get it_, so—”

Shion sputtered as Nezumi scrubbed at his mouth. He fully believed Nezumi did it to shut him up. Shion swatted Nezumi’s hand, his pain now converted into full blown resentment.

“You’re rubbing too hard! If you won’t let me do it myself, then let the dog lick it off instead!”

Nezumi stopped scouring his face. “That’s disgusting. You’d rather let that mangy dog lick your face?”

The dog sat at the bedside, panting gently. When Nezumi flung a hand toward it, it wagged its tail and rose to press its muzzle against Nezumi’s fingers. He clicked his tongue, but patted the dog’s head once, all the while glaring at Shion.

It was an odd scene. Shion didn’t think Nezumi liked animals. But then he did have mice.

_ But those feel more like roommates or colleagues than pets where Nezumi is concerned._

The thought brought a smile to Shion’s face. Nezumi narrowed his eyes.

“You like dog spit that much?”

“What? Oh. No, I was…”

Shion was saved from coming up with a response by the entrance of Inukashi. Their diminutive form radiated rage.

“Get that blood off your face,” Inukashi growled at Shion. “You are never practicing shooting in my hotel again,” they said to them both, and then at last, only to Nezumi, “You owe me two full magazines, dipshit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And back to hiatus. It just bothered me so much that the story wasn't updated since Nov; it looked like it was abandoned. >>;; And it's not! Next time I post, it will be all done and regularlike. Thank you for your patience and support <3


	21. Nightmares or Nothingness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give up. I'm too impatient to not release anything more until I've finished completely. Consider the schedule sporadic from now on.

The peace of mind brought from Nezumi’s note was short-lived. Karan had spent a few months in greater spirits, but knowing Shion was alive out there was not enough to calm a mother’s worries. In her waking hours, Karan was able to hope and look strong. But at night, her fears crept in.

Sometimes she dreamt of Shion stumbling through an abandoned wasteland: his face haggard, his clothes threadbare, his hands coated in gore as he reached for her.

Sometimes, she dreamt she and Shion were together again in Chronos, baking and smiling like their lives had never gone awry. But when she stooped to take the cherry cakes from the oven, she turned to find herself alone in the dark storeroom of her Lost Town bakery.

Other times, she dreamt that Shion was safe and warm, protected by some faceless person. She watched them from the window, smiling to herself even while she felt the aching numb spreading through her limbs. Shion was safe, Shion was happy—and he had forgotten all about her.

That was by far the best dream she had of him, but Karan woke shaking and crying from every one. Since Shion’s disappearance, she hadn’t had a single happy dream of their life together; it was either nightmares or nothingness.

Karan tried not to let it take a toll on her, but poor sleep is hard to hide when its compounded week after week.

“Ms. Karan, are you getting sick?”

“Oh, no, Lili. I’m just tired.” Karan smiled at her.

A few strands of her hair slid into her eyes, and she reached back to tuck them away and tighten the knot of her bandana. Karan’s hairdresser had cut the strands framing her face too short, and now Karan had to constantly brush hair from her face and retie her bandana to trap the wayward strands.

“Why’re you so tired? Are you sleeping? Don’t you have a good bedtime?” Lili twisted her mouth to the side, her large brown eyes sparkling with concern.

Karan couldn’t help but laugh at seeing such a matronly expression on the young girl’s face. “I do have a good bedtime, but I can’t seem to stay asleep. It’s an old person problem.”

Lili blinked back at her with an edge of uncertainty, obviously trying to calculate how many years she had left until she was an “old person” and susceptible to such problems.

“She’s right, kiddo.” A tall, wiry man in a light brown jacket came around the cake display and dropped his hand on Lili’s head. “When you get to our age, sleep is a privilege, not a right.”

“Uncle Yo!” Lili yelped and batted his hand away. “My hair! Mama made it special. _Don’t_ mess it up.”

Lili gently ran her fingers over her crown braid, trying to gauge its condition. The little girl always came in flaunting a new look. Pigtails, twin buns, braids—there was no end to Renka’s imagination or Lili’s enthusiasm.

Renka had always been adept at hair styling. At the sleepovers in their girlhood days, Renka constantly begged Karan to let her try out the new braid or twist she had learned. Karan brought the sweets, and Renka brought her love of dress up.

They used to joke they were born to be doting mothers.

The tall, dark-haired man chuckled at Lili’s fluster, and shrugged a shoulder at Karan. “My niece has always been a fashionista, just like her mom. Nice to see you, Karan.”

Karan smiled politely at him. The man was Renka’s older brother, Yoming. He was a rather ordinary looking middle-aged man with a full head of hair and a mustache; both had noticeable grey streaks throughout.

Karan hadn’t had much interaction with him growing up, despite being close friends with Renka. Yoming hadn’t spent a lot of time at the house back then, and the man he was now was no less elusive. In recent years, Yoming had gained a reputation for eccentricity.

Yoming had been an active voice during the first stages of the wall’s erection—not because he didn’t want the wall built, but because a condition of the quarantine was to put the Babylon Treaty back into place, which meant the citizens must return their weapons. Citizens had been allowed weapons in the first few years of the outbreak to protect themselves from the hordes of the infected, but once the Salvation Edict was ratified, the citizens were expected to turn in their firearms. Yoming did not want to surrender his arms; he didn’t trust that they would be completely safe just by building a wall. He argued that the people should be allowed to keep their guns in case the day came when they needed them again. He lobbied the government and petitioned the people over and over for a year.

Then, all of a sudden, he stopped. Karan heard rumors about the reasons, but it never boded well to chase such rumors. The matter was left to molder in shadow.

Nowadays, whenever she heard people talk of Yoming’s doings, it was usually whispers about how he talked to birds, and rumors of an arms collection he had ferreted away under the Security Bureau’s noses. Karan doubted Yoming had such a thing hidden away—the city was too well mapped and monitored to have secret stockpiles of illegal weapons—but she knew the bird whispering was true: She had seen Yoming in the Forest Park once or twice with a crow perched on his shoulder.

“Would you like a muffin?” Karan asked Yoming.

“Yes, please. A few cheese.”

“Hey, no way!” Lili groused as Karan began bagging Yoming’s order. “Cheese muffins are _my _favorite. It’s not fair if you hog them all, Uncle Yo!”

Yoming shot a playful, long-suffering look at Karan, and took the bag she handed him. “Lili,” he said, voice light but firm. “Who do you think I’m ordering these muffins for?”

Lili glanced between her uncle’s face and the bag of muffins. A faint blush rose in her plump cheeks. Her gaze dropped to the floor and she mumbled, “Sorry, Uncle Yo….”

Yoming chuckled and laid his hand atop her head, though he took care not to muss her hair, and this time Lili didn’t swat him away.

“Kids, right?” Yoming said to Karan, a rakish smile flirting at the edges of his mouth.

Karan smiled back indulgently, and suddenly the expression on Yoming’s face shifted. It was slight, a minute downward pitch in his mirth, a hardening in the depths of his dark eyes. Karan felt certain in that brief moment their gazes locked that there was something Yoming wanted to say to her.

But then Lili snatched at the bag in Yoming’s hand and piped, “Let’s bring this to Mama,” and the moment was gone.

“Anything for you, my loveable niece,” Yoming called drolly as Lili headed for the door. He dug out the amount for the muffins and slipped it over the counter.

Karan thanked him automatically, but her mind was still reeling from their odd wordless exchange.

“I’ll see you, Karan. Try to get some sleep, huh?” Yoming rapped his knuckles twice on the counter, curled his mouth into the briefest of smiles, and followed Lili out.

_ What was that about?_

Karan tucked her hands into her apron. The encounter left a charged note in the air. She felt restless. Yoming seemed so friendly, but there was something…off about him, too. He could just be an eccentric like everyone said, but she couldn’t rule out more nefarious possibilities.

_ Friend or foe?_

“What a nice young man,” said the old woman sipping her coffee in the corner.

“Yes. His niece is just adorable.”

The old woman stared back at her, face kindly neutral. Karan cleared her throat and swiped Yoming’s payment into her apron.

_ Cheep._

Karan just barely controlled her flinch. She glanced down. A brown mouse. The tightness in her chest evaporated; brown meant safety.

The mouse twitched its nose and spat a capsule on the floor. Her heart rejoiced—only for Karan’s nerves to tighten once again.

_ Why did it put it _right here _in the bakery?! It should have waited until I was in the back!_ But then, it was a mouse; she couldn’t really blame it for not understanding the imperatives of time and place.

Karan checked if the old woman was watching her still, but the widow had returned to sipping her lukewarm coffee and staring out the window. Satisfied, Karan negotiated dropping a copper coin onto the floor by “accident,” murmured loudly about it, and crouched down.

She unrolled the note and the world went still.

_ Mom, I'm sorry. Alive and well._

Karan clapped a hand over her mouth to keep her breath from shuddering. _Shion._

There was no mistaking the slanted, cramped handwriting. And the message… She could perfectly imagine Shion agonizing over it, wondering what to write, how to say the most he could in such a brief note. He was like her in that way. Careful. Purposeful.

_ Shion._ Karan cradled the note to her chest. She wanted to see him. She wanted to hold him in her arms.

Karan had never felt the injustice of No. 6 more in her entire life.

“Madam?”

Karan folded the note and took a few breaths to try to wipe her emotion away, to prepare the face her customers expected. She stood again, tucking the note and the copper into her apron.

The widow had finished her coffee and was gathering her things. “There you are,” the old lady crooned. “I thought for a second that you ran off!” She laughed lightly, and Karan tried to smile.

The woman made her farewell, and Karan bowed her head and uttered a banal response.

A young woman trying to enter the bakery met the elderly woman at the door and stepped back to hold it open.

“Safu?”

Karan’s brow furrowed even as she said it. She could have sworn Shion’s childhood friend had left on her exchange program to No. 5 months ago, but the girl before her was undeniably Safu: chin-length hair, fashionably cut, and large, dark eyes warm with feeling.

She wore a long cream winter coat and a knitted baby pink scarf, which she unwound from her neck as she stepped into the bakery. Safu’s grandmother was always knitting her clothing and accessories, which Safu modeled and talked up with pride.

“Ms. Karan,” Safu murmured, inclining her head and adjusting the shoulder bag she carried. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes,” Karan agreed with feeling. She smiled and came around the counter to give the girl a hug.

Karan couldn’t help it; Safu was as close as she could get to Shion, so she poured all her worry and love into the embrace vicariously. Safu seemed surprised by the affection, but returned the hug after a moment.

“It seems like it’s been years!” Karan said, pulling back and admiring Safu’s slim face. “You’ve grown so beautiful. How have you been? I thought you were on exchange?”

Safu’s smile was tame in comparison to her own, and Karan remembered the girl had always been a little shy of her, though she shone so brightly when Shion was near. Karan had always attributed her reserve to Safu losing her mother and father at a very young age.

“My grandmother passed away,” Safu said. “I came back to attend the funeral.”

“Oh.” A pang shot through Karan’s chest. “Safu… I’m so sorry.”

_ Her last living relative. Safu is all alone now._ Karan couldn’t help but feel an awful sort of kinship with her. Though Shion was not gone, he was beyond her reach.

“Thank you,” Safu murmured at the floor.

Karan brushed a hand over Safu’s shoulder. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

“There is.” Safu’s gaze snapped up, blazing bright. “Can you tell me where Shion is?”

The question felt like a punch. Karan stepped back, breathless for a moment.

Of course. Safu had been on exchange until recently, perhaps she hadn’t heard.

_ But_…

Safu’s shoulders were tight, her expression grim. This was not the look of someone who had come here blindly looking for a reunion with her childhood friend.

“I heard,” Safu said, voice low. “I heard what they said he did. _Murder_.” Safu laughed once. The sharp, bright sound shivered in the air of the empty bakery. She shook her head. “Ridiculous. Shion would never hurt someone; he isn’t capable of it. Couldn’t they think of a more believable lie?”

Karan’s heart clenched. Without a word, she grabbed Safu’s wrist and pulled her around the counter and into the gloomy storeroom.

“You have to be careful, Safu. You can’t say such things out loud; you don’t know who might be listening. I think it’s safe back here, though.”

Safu’s eyes looked black in the low light. “They’re watching you, aren’t they?”

Karan wrung her hands. Safu was Shion’s closest friend and confidante—Karan wanted to trust her and pour her heart out. But No. 6 was good at planting the seeds of fear and doubt deeply in its citizens’ minds, and she was afraid of trusting too much.

Safu suddenly returned from No. 5 and came straight from her grandmother’s funeral to ask about Shion. What did that say about her? That she was a concerned friend, anxious to know the truth? Or that she was a spy sent by the Bureau to trick Karan into giving up Shion’s location?

“If the Bureau is keeping an eye on you, then I must be right,” Safu said. “Shion isn’t incarcerated in the Correctional Facility—he’s somewhere else. He’s safe, isn’t he. Isn’t he?” Safu took hold of Karan’s hands. “Please, Ms. Karan. If you know where he is, you have to tell me.”

Karan swallowed. Her throat was so tight it hurt a little.

No, she didn’t think Safu was a spy for the Security Bureau. Hers was genuine grief and desperation. Safu looked the way Karan had felt inside every day since Shion’s disappearance.

“He’s outside the quarantine zone,” Karan said, her voice scarcely a whisper. “In West Block.”

She expected Safu to flinch back, or at least show some shock, but the girl’s expression only sharpened.

“Yes, of course,” she murmured, releasing Karan’s hands. “I had wondered why the Bureau hadn’t announced anything more about Shion’s case. But if they don’t have him… If he’s outside the quarantine zone… Then it’s no wonder. They have no intention of going after him; it’s not worth the risk. To them, he’s as good as dead.”

“You think so?”

Safu nodded. “No. 6 has satellites so powerful that they could take a picture of us here with perfect clarity. If they wanted Shion, they could have found him and brought him back months ago.”

_ That’s true_, Karan thought, hope kindling in her chest. _They must not care to go after him in West Block. It’s the only thing that makes sense._

Unless he looked completely different from the recorded data.

Karan’s breath caught, but she forced it to regulate. _Don’t be silly_, she chastised herself. _Nezumi said he was safe. _Shion_ said he was alive and well in his note this morning. He isn’t one of those things and he never will be._

Karan slipped a hand into her apron and closed it around Shion’s note.

“As long as Shion stays out of the quarantine zone, he’s safe.” Safu pressed her lips together. “West Block. So close and yet… Is Shion alone?”

Karan blinked at the sudden question. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s a feeling I have. And my first hunch was right, so…” Safu’s mouth curved into a small smile. “He isn’t, right? Someone’s by his side?”

“I’m not sure who it is, but… It seems like someone named Nezumi has been watching over him. I think Shion’s been waiting to see that person for a long time, so he’s probably happy, even being in that terrible place.”

Karan hoped this would bring Safu some comfort, but the only change she could perceive was a slight tightening around her eyes and the edges of her smile.

“Thank you, Ms. Karan. I…” Safu paused. “It was so good to see you.”

Safu hugged her—tight, tighter than the girl had ever held her before. Karan could not remember that last time Safu—erudite, polite, no-nonsense—had ever initiated a hug. A heaviness settled in her mind, like a fat, dark cloud slipping over the sun.

“I’m going now,” Safu said, flashing Karan a sweet smile as she pulled back. “Goodbye, Ms. Karan.”

“Wait. Where are you going?” Karan caught Safu by the hand as she made for the storeroom door. “Home? Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye forever?”

She laughed a little as she asked the question, because it sounded too serious otherwise.

Safu’s dark, warm eyes stared back at Karan, the corners of her mouth curled up in a sorry sort of impertinence. She was just a slip of a thing, but everything about her look radiated purpose, defiance, and recklessness.

The heaviness in Karan’s mind seeped into her chest.

“I’m going, Ms. Karan,” Safu said gently. Her tone was forbearing, as if she were the older one, and Karan a silly child, worrying about things that were not hers to worry over. “I’m going to Shion.”

Karan’s grip tightened around the girl’s cold, slender fingers. “To West Block? Safu, you can’t! The place is crawling with infected! It’s dangerous, and if you leave the quarantine zone, you may never be able to get back in.”

“I know. I don’t care. There’s nothing for me here anyway.”

“Nothing for you? What are talking you about? You have your exchange to finish. You have your whole life ahead of you!”

“The only life I want is one with Shion in it; I can’t have that here. There is nothing No. 6 can give me now. My grandmother is gone, I canceled the paperwork for the exchange this morning. The only thing I have now is Shion. The only thing I _want_ is to be by Shion’s side.”

Safu gripped Karan’s hand. Her eyes were hard and desperate, and they glistened with stubbornly unshed tears.

“I love him,” she choked. “I want to be with him. Even if it’s in the Deadlands, even if I can only exist in his shadow. I don’t care if I can’t be first in his heart, I just… I just need…”

Safu trembled. Karan could feel her whole body shaking.

_ She’s so young._ Karan remembered when she was that young. When love was the only thing that mattered, and she didn’t care to think more than two minutes ahead of the present moment. But a love like that was all-consuming, and it was not made for lasting. The brighter and more passionate the attachment, the quicker it burned away, and the sooner you were left spent and bereft.

Karan had thought she would be with the man she loved forever. She thought she would do anything to stay by his side. But in the end, she was left standing on the doorstep with a newborn baby in her arms as she watched her love disappear over the horizon.

A single tear rolled down Safu’s cheek, and Karan lifted her free hand to brush it away.

“Thank you,” Karan murmured. “Thank you for loving him so much. I’ve been missing him alone all these months… It makes me so happy to know there’s someone else who loves and misses Shion as much as I do.”

Safu sniffed and rubbed at her face with the back of her hand. “You understand, don’t you?”

“I understand why you want to go to him.” Karan soothed Safu’s hair, gently, like a mother does for her young child. “But, Safu… You don’t need him to be whole. You can’t build your life around a man; it only leads to heartache.”

Karan hoped that her feelings and experience would get through to the girl, but Safu was only sixteen, and though highly intellectual, there were few things at that age that could overcome the heart.

A pang shot through Karan’s chest as Safu pulled her hand back and took a step toward the door.

“Thank you, Ms. Karan. I have to go now.”

“Safu, please,” Karan cried, desperation finally coaxing her voice above a sedate whisper. “You’re Shion’s best friend; you mean the world to him. He wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger by going after him. If you love Shion, then wait. Wait for him to come home.”

“He may never come home.”

“We can’t know that. Perhaps the government will finally find a cure, and the quarantine will end. He will be able to come back then.” Karan brightened. “You could enter the medical labs and help them research! You’re so smart, Safu; if you were on the team, I’m sure we’d have a cure in no time. Why not dedicate your time to that?”

Safu smiled. “That’s a great idea. I’ll look into it.” She inclined her head and said her goodbyes again.

Karan watched from the bakery window as Safu’s cream coat disappeared around the corner. She twisted her hands in her apron. _This isn’t good. I feel like I will never see her again._

The feeling grew darker and heavier until she could bear it no longer. _I’ll go stay with her_, she decided. _She’s all alone in her grandmother’s house now. I’ll fix her some dinner and keep an eye on her._

Karan turned toward the back of the room to fetch her coat, and something on the counter caught her attention: Safu’s pink scarf. She must have placed it there when Karan dragged her into the back room.

“Perfect,” she said, smiling to herself. She could use returning the scarf as an excuse to go to Safu’s.

She took it from the counter, pulled on her coat, and bustled out into the cool evening air. She walked a little faster than usual, but not much. Safu couldn’t have gotten that far, and besides, Karan knew the way to her grandmother’s house well enough.

The sun had just slipped out of sight, and the lip of the wall sparkled like thousands of tiny rhinestones. Karan had heard the younger kids refer to the handful of minutes where the sun hits the wall just so as "twinkle time." They liked to stop and watch until the glimmer faded and the wall returned to its dull, bone-white existence.

The streetlights flicked on all at once as Karan turned around the block. The light pooled in the narrow streets and glided along the edges of the sidewalks, but nearer to the buildings and homes, the walk was drowned in shadow. Karan had always wondered which city planner had made this decision, and why they thought it a good idea to only light one straight swath of street, and leave the rest to darkness.

Perhaps it was a metaphor for life in No. 6: Keep to the path we lay for you, and you will be safe.

Karan slowed. She heard voices, at least one male, and one female. As she neared the next turn, their calm tones jumped higher. The female voice sounded distressed, and the male's angry.

Karan's heart leapt. She scurried to the corner, quietly, in case it was just a couple having a fight, and peered around the edge.

The first thing she noticed was the sleek black Security Bureau cruiser. The vehicle was unmistakable; black cars were off-limits to regular citizens. The mere sight of the cruiser raised the hairs on the back of Karan's neck, but then there were the two officers who belonged to it—and Safu standing, tense, before them.

"You have been traveling abroad and need to be checked for infection," barked the closest officer.

"I was tested upon entry," Safu said, taking an instinctive step back. "I'm clean. I don't see why I need to come to the Bureau now."

"This isn't a discussion. You're coming with us."

The officer snatched Safu by the forearm and started pulling her toward the cruiser, while his partner opened the rear car door. Safu screamed for help as they dragged her.

Karan's heart lurched.

_ I have to go to her. I have to help!_

But her body wouldn't move. If she rushed out to interfere, they might take her too. She already had a fallen son; if she was taken, too, who would miss her? Who would be left waiting for Shion?

Karan felt sick and weak and painfully ashamed.

Safu twisted in the officer's grip and slammed her bag into the side of the man's head. He grunted, and his grip loosened. Karan's pulse quickened as Safu bolted in her direction.

_ Yes! _Karan resolved then that when Safu made it to her, she would protect her. She would face the officers bravely and hope her presence as a witness would convince them to retreat. 

Safu's gaze found Karan hunched in the shadows. A myriad of emotions flared in her eyes: hope, fear, relief, regret.

Karan began to rise to meet her.

One of the officers caught Safu around the waist, and the other clapped a hand over her face. Safu’s screams were muffled by the cloth pressed over her mouth and nose, and soon they died away completely. She went slack in the officers’ grips, and they dragged her into the waiting cruiser, slammed the door, and sped off.

Karan remained half-crouched in the darkness. Her body shook. She stared at the spot the cruiser had been, unable to move.

The Security Bureau abducted Safu. They had drugged and dragged her away, out in the open and without an ounce of fear.

And why should they fear such boldness? Not a soul responded when Safu screamed for help, and Karan had stayed frozen and done nothing.

Once again, she had failed to protect a child she loved.

Karan fisted her hands in Safu's soft, pink scarf, tears running down her face. She swiped at them and forced her body to move. She ran as fast as she could toward the bakery.

No. 6 thought they could just take people and get away with it. They thought because Safu had no living relations that no one would miss her or care. Karan wouldn't allow it. She had failed to stop Safu's abduction, but she still had one meager hope for saving her.

_ Nezumi_.

The name ran in a litany through her head as she rushed through the main part of the bakery and into the storage room. They had helped her once, perhaps they could help her again.

Karan snatched up a pen and paper and began to write.


	22. Nothing Personal

Shion thought cleaning the underground room was backbreaking business, but it was child’s play compared to washing dogs.

Books, and dust, and spiderwebs were stationary things. They waited patiently for you to clean them, and if you got too tired, you could lay down the broom and duster and pick them up the next day without any consequences.

Dogs, however, were living creatures and, as Shion soon discovered, extremely hard to wrangle, and prone to mischief. They would not wait to be washed, and you could spend half an hour cleaning one, only to turn around and see that it had rolled around in mud and undone all your hard work. To do the job properly, one had to be quick, and firm, and ready to dole out head and chin scratches at the most trying of times.

Before Shion came to volunteer for Inukashi, he had known very little about dogs. No. 6 allowed citizens to own them, but they were hardly seen outside of homes, and they were never of a breed that got too large. Since coming to West Block, Shion discovered that dogs came in all shapes, colors, and sizes, and their personalities were just as variable.

Most dogs in Inukashi’s care were of a kindly, excitable, or lax disposition, and those took to Shion quickly. Some of the dogs, though—a few of the very big and a few of the very small—were skittish or suspicious, and those refused to come close enough for Shion to woo or wash them. Inukashi told him to ignore those dogs; they’d wash them some other time.

“Shion,” Inukashi growled. “What are you doing?”

“Uh…” Shion paused in massaging soap suds into a medium sized dog’s matted fur. “Washing?”

“Yeah, for _too long_! You’ve been soaping that guy forever.” Inukashi flung a hand at him, flicking a spattering of water droplets through the air.

Shion and Inukashi had set up in the rubble-strewn plaza just outside the hotel early that morning. The sky was the dull, rough color of oyster shells, and the bleached stones around them gave off an air of solemnity that was at odds with the happy dawdling of the dogs and Inukashi’s sharp, ever critical demeanor.

They’d been washing for a few hours now, and both of their pants were soaked at the hems with dirty dog water. Each sported their own array of soap suds as well; Inukashi had some smeared over their nose and streaked in the strands of their tied back hair, while Shion could feel bubbles crinkling just behind his ear and in the crooks of his elbows.

“Rinse him off and move on to the next,” Inukashi grumbled, trying and failing to rub their nose on the shoulder of their shirt. Their hands were occupied in the perfunctory scrubbing of a small, old dog. “Do you see how many dogs are out here? At this rate, we’ll be washing tomorrow and the next day, too!”

“Sorry, Inukashi… I guess I got carried away.”

Shion ran his fingers through the chest fur of his dog, and it closed its eyes in ecstasy. It was obviously enjoying the attention, and he felt bad about cutting its wash short. He sighed, picked up the bucket beside him, and poured the clean water over the dog.

“But I thought we’d want the dogs to be extra clean,” Shion said as he began to work the soap out of the dog’s hair, “since you rent them out to people.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, you wouldn’t want your customers sleeping with dirty dogs.”

“They already do that; they’ve _been_ doing that. And my customers are dirty, too, so what do they care?”

“Oh. Well, I guess…”

In truth, he had been hoping to impress Inukashi with his superior dog washing ability. There was something about the abrasive, no nonsense preteen that made Shion want to gain their approval. But they only seemed to find his thoroughness annoying.

_ Come to think of it, they’re kind of like a smaller, angrier Nezumi._ Shion wondered if all West Block residents were so difficult to please.

Shion toweled the dog down and gave it a firm pat on its backside. “All done. Sorry it was so short, but try to stay clean for a bit, okay?”

The dog stared at him and Shion swore he could read disappointment in its eyes. It huffed and stalked away, and Shion was left feeling chastised and bereft.

When he turned to call over the next dog, he found Inukashi staring a hole through the side of his face. Shion had been catching the tail ends of their searching looks all morning. He had taken extra care to keep his hair tucked away under his purple beanie, but he thought, perhaps, that they were still thinking about whether he was an infection danger.

“It’s crazy that Nezumi associates with you,” Inukashi finally said. “You sound like his worst nightmare; always so goody-two-shoes, and caring about other people and shit. Why does he put up with you?”

Shion took a moment to consider his answer. He couldn’t speak for Nezumi, but he had his own experiences with him to inform his opinion. Nezumi was rough around the edges, but he wasn’t all edges.

“Nezumi’s… He’s kind. He tries hard to keep people from seeing it, and he’d throw a fit if you ever said it to his face, but he is.”

Inukashi’s eyebrows shot up. “What a load of crap,” they scoffed. “The only kindness Nezumi’s ever shown is to the dead.”

Shion frowned but shrugged. Inukashi and Nezumi seemed to hate each other, and he didn’t think anything he said would change that.

Inukashi dropped their sponge into the bucket. Soapy water splashed onto their pants, but they took no notice. “Where’d he pick you up, anyway? The fan club?”

“Nezumi has a fan club?”

“Eve sure as hell does.”

Shion tilted his head, but before he could ask more, a large dog bounded over, covered from snout to tail in mud. Inukashi launched into a fantastic bout of swearing, and wrestled the dog into the middle of the washing zone.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of the river?” Inukashi growled.

The dog panted apologetically.

“Here, I got it.” Shion took the bucket from Inukashi and dumped it over the dog’s head, careful to shade its eyes from the water. “There we go,” he cooed as he massaged the worst of the muck from the fur on its head. “There’s a good boy.”

The dog’s tail thumped on the floor, flinging mud into Shion’s face and onto Inukashi’s stomach. The dogkeeper made a disgusted noise, but Shion just laughed and rubbed his cheek on the least dirtied part of his shirt. He had to be gentle when he got close to his left eye, though, because it was bruised from his mishap with Nezumi’s gun recoil.

Shion never knew you could get a black eye from hitting your nose, but apparently you could, and it looked nasty. Nezumi said he looked badass, but Shion was pretty sure he had been mocking him.

A cool, clean river ran just behind the hotel, and Shion had to make several trips back and forth to get the amount of water needed to reclaim the dog’s white fur from the muck. Shion washed the dog as thoroughly as he could manage, then gave it a few chin scratches and sent it on its way.

Inukashi’s dark eyes were on him again when he looked up. “Who are you to Nezumi?” There was something strange in their voice that Shion couldn’t quite place.

“What do you mean?”

“Nezumi never brings people around here. Especially not people like…”

They gestured up and down at Shion. Shion raised an eyebrow.

“You know,” Inukashi said, looking frustrated. They dumped a bucket of water over the nearest soapy dog’s head and sent it on its way with bubbles still clinging to its tail.

Shion frowned again, deeper this time.

“Oh, come on. You look like you couldn’t fight your way out of a paper bag! I have puppies more ferocious than you. So what’re you doing with Nezumi?”

Shion’s first instinct was to say it was complicated, but he knew Inukashi would not accept that answer. But it _was _complicated. Shion wasn’t sure how to describe who he was to Nezumi, and Nezumi to him. They had met by chance and had formed an inextricable connection since.

For Shion’s part—since Nezumi counseled him time and again about “using his language properly”—he would say that Nezumi was an irreplaceable person. He wouldn’t throw around words like “love,” because Nezumi had thrown that confession back in his face. But, privately, he owned that he was attracted to Nezumi and would like to be more than deadweight or a nuisance to him.

Whether Nezumi felt anything for him beyond reluctant obligation, Shion still couldn’t say with certainty.

“He’s helping me look into something,” Shion said, which was vague and personal enough to resemble the truth.

“Helping you?” Inukashi’s dark eyes bored into Shion’s. “What are you paying him?”

“What? Nothing; it’s not like that. But like I said, I’m trying to get a job, so I can contribute.”

“Then you have something he wants to trade for? Or…” Inukashi’s eyes flashed. “Do you have something on him? If you have dirt on Nezumi, I’d be willing to pay for it. Name your price.”

“I’m not blackmailing him, Inukashi, and I’m not bribing him either.”

“Then what is it?” Inukashi howled. A few of the dogs lifted their heads at the outburst. “Nezumi doesn’t just help people out! He doesn’t do anything for free!”

Shion smiled a little. “I don’t think it’s for free; Nezumi’s definitely paying for it.”

Inukashi gaped at him. Shion wasn’t sure if they thought his joke was offensive or ridiculous, but it was easy to see that they were disbelieving.

“How many more dogs?” he asked.

Inukashi closed their mouth and scowled. “Look around, airhead. A shit ton.”

There were indeed a whole lot more dogs wandering around the plaza, and several were noticeably dirty. Shion’s shoulders began to ache in anticipation, but he didn’t say a word and went back to the river to fill two more pails.

He paused there to take a long drink. Shion knew this little river was the same one that provided water to Nezumi’s underground room, and to the town. The water was delicious; he never imagined that a place like West Block would have a source that tasted so cool and pure. Water had never tasted so good in No. 6. But then, maybe it was only because he never appreciated it properly before.

Shion came back to Inukashi and the horde of dogs, and they washed in silence for a time.

“What’s your relationship to Nezumi?” Shion asked. “I’m guessing you’re not friends?”

Inukashi looked up in the middle of squeezing out a rag, and the rung-out water splashed onto their ratty shoes.

“Friends?” They said the word like it was a horrid, pestilent thing.

“You two aren’t close, I guess. You only have a working relationship.”

“God, what a weird question,” Inukashi muttered. “Of course we only have a working relationship. No one has ‘_friends_’ in West Block.” They rolled their eyes and threw the rag into an empty bucket without ever putting it to work. “Nezumi gets me stuff, I pay him. He needs something from me, he pays me. That’s it. There’s nothing personal about it.”

As Inukashi finished, though, a strain of uncertainty slipped into lines of their mouth. One of the dogs, a bony Labrador mix with a white sock on its right forepaw, trotted over and rested its head on Inukashi’s lap. Inukashi scratched it behind its ears. The troubled look deepened.

“What is it?” Shion asked.

“Hm? Oh. Well…” Inukashi brushed their bangs back from their forehead, then shifted in their crouch. “Sometimes Nezumi sings for me—for the dogs, I mean. But I pay him for that, too.”

Shion perked up. “He sings for you?”

“For the dogs,” Inukashi repeated, impatient. “Sometimes when a dog gets old—or if it gets hurt, like bitten by a zombie, or beaten by some piece of shit kid or something—they don’t die quickly. They suffer, ya know? Can’t walk or are bleeding, and there’s nothing I can do to help them. Then I call Nezumi over so he can sing to them. He’s got… I don’t know what to call it. He’s different when he sings. When you hear his voice, it feels like everything’s going to be alright, and you just want to lie down and close your eyes. Nothing else matters, and you let it carry you away like you’re drifting on the wind.

“And that’s what happens with the dying dogs; the song takes their souls and lifts them up and out. They stop crying and they relax and just lie there, and you think they’ve just gone to sleep, but they’re dead. They pass away like that, all quiet and peaceful.”

Inukashi’s voice had become soft. Their hands were still, resting on the Labrador mix’s head, and the dog, too, had settled, as if rocked to sleep by the gentle memory of Nezumi’s voice.

Shion tried to imagine it. He had only heard Nezumi sing once, on that first night he slept in Nezumi’s bed, but the experience stuck with him. The lullaby had been beautiful, Nezumi’s voice otherworldly. He could easily imagine a hurt or dying dog relaxing under its sway and drifting away peacefully. It seemed like a nice way to go.

“It was like that with my mum,” Inukashi said. “She had been attacked by a couple of zombies, and got all torn up. Her front legs were broken, and her one ear was chewed off, and she was frothing and bleeding.” Inukashi’s face twisted. “There was nothing I could do. Even if I could fix her legs, she had been bitten. She was gonna die soon anyway, and she was gonna suffer.”

Shion canted his head to the side. “You said your mother’s front legs were broken?”

“Yeah, her front legs. She was a dog.”

“Oh. So you were raised by dogs.” Shion studied Inukashi and then the dog resting on their lap. “I see,” he said, smiling. “So these dogs are your family. I didn’t know.”

Inukashi clicked their tongue. “Not _all_ of the dog’s here are related to me. Just a few.”

“You’ll have to point out which ones. I’d like to introduce myself to them properly.”

Inukashi laughed, but cut it off abruptly and they went back to looking troubled.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No. It’s just… You didn’t laugh about my mum being a dog. And it made me remember...”

Shion waited patiently for them to finish the thought.

“The only other person who didn’t laugh…” Inukashi’s expression pinched in agitation. “That person was…”

Something behind Inukashi’s shoulder caught Shion’s attention. “Nezumi!”

Inukashi glanced up, startled. “How did you know?”

“Hm?” Shion blinked at them. “What? It’s Nezumi.” He pointed.

Inukashi twisted around and scowled when they spotted the dark-clad figure approaching. They glared at Shion’s grinning face and mumbled, “Yeesh. I’ve never seen anyone so puppylike in my entire life.”

Judging by Inukashi’s love of dogs, he decided to take the comment as at least half a compliment. Shion clambered to his feet and called out.

Nezumi raised an eyebrow at him. He walked slowly towards them, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. Shion admired the way the light wind tousled Nezumi’s hair and pinkened his cheeks.

Shion wiped his hands off on his pant legs and hurried to meet Nezumi halfway. “What are you doing here?”

“I was passing by, and thought I’d come and enjoy the sight of you and Inukashi half drenched and covered in dog filth.” Nezumi eyed them both up and down. “It’s exactly as I imagined. How charming.”

“Fuck off,” Inukashi growled.

Shion glanced down at his clothes. His blue cardigan was mud-splotched and damp from a combination of water, soap, and sweat. His pants weren’t much better. But Shion only shrugged; getting dirty was par for the course when one was doing manual labor.

“If you just came to gawk and make fun, it would be better if you helped instead,” Shion said.

“Me? Help? Why would I do that?”

“There are so many dogs left that need washing, and you’re not doing anything but standing around.”

“_You _volunteered yourself for this; I’m not lifting a finger to help you.”

“So you’re just going to stand there and watch us work? That doesn’t make any sense. You might as well make yourself useful.”

“It’s called _schadenfreude_, Shion. It brings me pleasure to watch you muck around in the mud while I sit back and enjoy the show.”

Shion uttered a loud, uneven sigh. “You’re being unreasonable. Don’t you think, Inukashi?” Shion turned to them, but Inukashi was staring at Nezumi.

Nezumi’s face shuttered up. Shion wasn’t sure what to do with the glint in Inukashi’s eyes, or the tense set to Nezumi’s shoulders, so he pulled his beanie off, ruffled his hair, and put it back on just to have something to do.

“Let’s get back to washing,” Shion suggested, and reached for a wet rag.

“Leave it,” said Nezumi. “We’re going.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Inukashi jumped to their feet. “We’re not done yet! There are loads of dogs left.”

“That’s too bad. Shion’s only here on a volunteer basis, so he can leave whenever, and I say he leaves now. Shion?”

Nezumi gave him one of his _looks_. The kind that left the final choice up to Shion, but that promised days of irritated sulking if his loyalties didn’t reside with Nezumi.

“If I’m the volunteer, shouldn’t I be the one to say when I’m leaving?” Shion mumbled. But he dropped the rag into the water pail and offered Inukashi an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Inukashi… I’ll come back tomorrow to finish the rest, okay?”

Inukashi scoffed and threw their hands up. “Whatever. Both of you get lost, before I sic the dogs on you.”

The dogs lifted their heads curiously at their mention.

Shion followed Nezumi out of the ruins. His stomach tightened in guilt for leaving Inukashi in the middle of the job. He had hoped to be friends with them, and he seemed to be making headway until Nezumi rudely commandeered him.

Shion was about to bring his misgivings up when he realized Nezumi wasn’t taking him on the normal path through town. They were walking along the outskirts of West Block, close to the ramshackle fence.

“Memorize this way,” Nezumi said. “It may seem more dangerous than going through town, but it’s actually safer and faster. Zombies are slow and dumb; better to chance them than get ambushed and robbed by a gang of starving children in town. Or molested by prostitutes.”

Shion shot him a dry look, but Nezumi didn’t see it. He looked straight ahead; his expression was grim.

“Nezumi?”

Nezumi drew to a stop and turned to Shion. He reached into his holster and pulled out the Glock 17 Shion had practiced with a few days earlier.

“Here. It’s loaded with real bullets. We’ll buy you a holster on the way home.”

“Wait, what?” Shion stared down at the gun. Even though it was silver polymer, it seemed to glint in the afternoon sunlight. “Can’t you hold onto it?”

Nezumi stared blankly at him. “The gun is for you to protect yourself. Me holding onto it completely defeats the purpose.”

“Well.” Shion bit his lip. “I don’t go out without you anyway, so it should be fine?”

The grey in Nezumi’s eyes flashed like lightning. “I won’t always be around to protect you, Shion.”

Shion’s face heated. For a moment, he felt like the Nezumi he knew was gone, replaced by a keen-eyed stranger. He didn’t like it. He wanted to go back ten minutes to when he and Nezumi were fighting in the courtyard, to when Nezumi snapped back in exasperation and looked at him with expectation in his eyes.

The person before him was distant, hard. Someone Shion had only seen flashes of in the last three months. He did not like to meet him face to face.

“Nezumi…” His voice shook. “Why are you—”

“Shion.” Nezumi’s cold gaze killed the breath in Shion’s lungs. “I’m leaving.”


	23. Quiet

Shion sat on the edge of the little cot in the underground room. It had begun to rain, and he could hear the soft whisper of the drops as they pelted the world above, splattering on the cold, empty staircase leading down to the bunker.

Nezumi hadn’t brought an umbrella. Shion imagined Nezumi walking alone in the wilderness, his leather coat zipped all the way to his chin, the superfiber wrapped tight and hooded over his head to keep the icy rain at bay. Shion wondered if he regretted leaving so suddenly with nothing but a pack and his weapons to keep him company on the long journey through the heart of the Deadlands.

_ It’s not _that _long_, Shion griped at himself. _Only two days. He said he’d be back after that._

Nezumi had to replenish the ammo Inukashi had expended during Shion’s training session, and to do that, he had to raid one of the abandoned buildings out in the wilds past West Block’s rickety fence.

“But can’t you buy or trade for the ammo in West Block? There has to be some here,” Shion had protested. “I’ve seen other people in town with guns.”

“Yes, of course,” Nezumi replied. He perched on the edge of the book bench and laced up his boots with vicious speed, as if the black laces were snakes that would bite if he didn’t wrangle them in ten seconds flat.

After dragging Shion away from dog washing and dumping a gun and bad news on him, Nezumi had trudged back to the underground room in fantastically bad humor.

“But why would I pay for it if I can find it for free?” Nezumi finished, and dropped his feet to the floor with a muted _thump_.

Shion hadn’t had a response to that. ‘Because there are zombies’ seemed certain to be met with a scoff and a snarky remark. Nezumi feared nothing, so there was nothing Shion could use to dissuade him.

When Nezumi headed for the door, Shion had blurted, “How long will you be gone?”

“There’s a spot with a good stash about a day’s walk from here. I should be back in two days if things go smoothly.”

_ If things go smoothly. _The words had been rebounding in Shion’s head for hours now. What if things didn’t go smoothly? How would Shion know? He had to spend the next forty-eight hours holed up in the underground room, worrying.

Nezumi had asked him to stay put until he returned. Shion understood why: his looks made it too dangerous to walk around outside except for in emergencies, and he definitely couldn’t go with Nezumi into the Deadlands.

Shion wasn’t an idiot; if he could hardly handle West Block, he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance outside of it. He had learned how to shoot, but that didn’t mean he would be able to pull the trigger when a zombie or two or ten were breathing down his neck. Nezumi might even get hurt trying to protect him when Shion inevitably froze up.

But waiting for Nezumi to return was so much worse. What if that tentative conversation they’d shared a few hours ago was the last he’d ever have with Nezumi? If forty-eight hours slipped by and Nezumi didn’t come home, Shion would never know what happened to him, or if his company would have made a life or death difference.

Shion would be all alone in West Block. And then what would he do?

_ Stop thinking like that. Nezumi’s probably done this hundreds of times._

It was obvious from his nonchalance that Nezumi had made the trip into the Deadlands before. He probably picked up supplies from there as often as he could risk it. The houses outside the walls had been abandoned a decade ago, their occupants fled to quarantine zones if they were lucky, or to communities like West Block if they weren’t. All sorts of valuables and supplies were just sitting out in ghost towns, waiting to be repurposed by those brave enough to venture out and take them.

Shion felt sick. He hated that he worried every time Nezumi went out that it might be the last time he would see him. He hated No. 6 for leaving them out here to be picked off by hunger, and disease, and zombies, and even each other. He hated that despite trying his best to fit into his new life, he was still pretty much useless.

Shion stared out into the silent room, wondering how long it would be until he’d see the door open again. He dropped his head into his hands and tugged at his hair.

Soft chittering broke Shion from his internal tortures. The three mice scaled his pant leg and rested in a warm pile on his knee. Shion smiled down at them. At least he wasn’t completely alone.

“Ah, that reminds me,” he muttered.

He had told Inukashi that he would see them tomorrow to finish up the dogs. But that was before he knew Nezumi would be gone. Nezumi didn’t want him wandering around, and, in truth, Shion wasn’t comfortable walking around town alone just yet. He had to send Inukashi a message to cancel the appointment, with apologies.

“Who wants to deliver a message for me?” Shion asked the mice. Cravat’s cheep was the loudest, so Shion awarded her the capsule when he was finished scribbling the message.

“Alright,” Shion sighed into the still air.

It was still too early to go to bed, and he felt too restless to sit and read, even though the remaining mice were staring at him like they had hoped for a story.

He had to _do _something.

Shion had always been the type of person who put himself to work when he was anxious. Back in No. 6, he would help his mother at the bakery, or throw himself into his job at the Park Administration. In West Block, distracting himself usually meant cleaning, or organizing, or asking Nezumi questions until they got into a fight. Anything stimulating, really.

Shion resolved to do some chores he had been putting off, starting with cleaning the bathroom. And tomorrow, since he would have the whole lonely day ahead of him, he’d do laundry. The river wasn’t too far from the underground room, so the venture should be safe enough.

Shion pushed himself to his feet, rolled up his sleeves, and grabbed his cleaning gloves.

* * *

Shion had trouble sleeping.

The bed was cold. It was too big. The sheets smelled like Nezumi, and he wanted to know if Nezumi had arrived safely at his destination and whether Nezumi was also thinking about him and worrying.

_ Probably not._ Shion pursed his lips and buried his face into the pillow. It also smelled torturously like Nezumi: a mixture of leather, earth, and perfume from his nights at the playhouse.

Shion dozed face down in bed until he woke and had a feeling the sun was properly up. It took a few minutes, but he convinced himself to get out of bed.

He tore the sheets and pillowcase from the mattress and bundled them by the door, then went back to collect the bath towel and dirtied clothes. As he heaped the mound of fabric into his arms, he wished again for Nezumi’s return—but this time it was mostly because negotiating a staircase when you couldn’t see in front of you was terrifying, and his arms started to ache on the trip over to the river.

Washing, he decided, was a job better done in twos.

The sun sat low in the sky, and was half hidden by sullen clouds. Shion hoped it wouldn’t rain again, or snow. The ground was already mucky from last night’s shower and he had to be very careful to keep his burden high up in his arms, lest it drag in the mud.

Shion managed to clean everything and haul it back to the warehouse where the staircase to the underground room was hidden. He hung or draped them wherever looked the cleanest so they could dry, and went down to the room again to read for a few hours.

Something scratched the door not ten minutes later. Shion shot up and stared, heart pounding and ears straining. The sound did not come again in the next few seconds. Shion breathed, wondering if he had just imagined the noise, or if perhaps it was just a dry leaf scraping against the ground in the corridor. Then, again: a scratch, followed by a low snuffling noise.

Shion’s brows drew together. _Sounds like... _He rose and crossed the room.

“Hello?” he called. A happy bark answered and Shion’s body relaxed.

A light brown dog trotted into the room and wagged its tail when he opened the door. Muddy pawprints tracked on the carpet where it went, but Shion was too curious and happy to see the dog to be mad.

“Hey, boy.” Shion gave its head a rub. “What have you got there?”

The dog had a collar around its neck, which was unusual for Inukashi’s dogs, but Shion suspected the collar was strapped on for a reason. That reason being the piece of paper tucked into the top.

He pulled the paper out and unfolded it:

_you said your coming today so your coming. i dont care if Nezumi left or whatever. dogs need washing. if your scared to walk alone then take this dog with you. hell make sure noone messes with you._

Shion smiled down at the note. He could tell Inukashi worked really hard to write it; the penmanship was thick and shuddering, as if they had pressed the pencil to the paper as hard as they could.

“You’re going to be my escort?” he asked the dog.

It barked and spun in a circle, then jumped up and licked Shion’s face so fast he hardly knew what happened.

Shion laughed, wiping his cheek on the back of his hand. “Alright, then. I guess I’m keeping my promise today after all.”

It was good; Shion liked Inukashi and he was happy to have something useful to kill the hours. He grabbed his coat and gloves, and then paused in front of the faded chair. His holster and gun sat heaped on the cushion.

Nezumi gifted him the holster just as he was leaving the underground room. Pretty much a “Oh, yeah, here” and him chucking the contraption at Shion’s face.

“That’s a holster,” Nezumi said, his body halfway out the open door. “Get used to wearing it, and make sure your gun is in it whenever you go outside. If you die because you left your gun at home, I will hunt down your corpse and use it for target practice.”

Then he slammed the door, leaving that mental image to reverberate in Shion’s skull for the next half hour.

The dog nosed his hand and trotted toward the door with a low warble, impatient to return to its master. Shion sighed, strapped the holster on, and let the dog lead him out into the morning.

* * *

The dog washing session went even better than the first. Before, Shion had been affectionate with, but uncertain of how to handle the dogs, and his washing skills reflected that. But coming into the second session, Shion felt more equal to the task, and to working alongside Inukashi.

He felt like they had bonded the day before, and although Inukashi was still snappy and snarky with him, they were quicker to help him with tasks, and they deigned to share their crackers with him for lunch.

He even got to meet Inukashi’s family! As it turned out, the dog that escorted Shion to and from the hotel was Inukashi’s younger brother. Shion made sure to afford the dog extra attention, which seemed to please Inukashi, despite their mutterings to the contrary.

Shion had a skip in his step as he walked home, his dog escort trotting friskily at his side. Up until now, his walks to the underground room had always been with Nezumi, and those were filled with chatter. Admittedly, the chatter was ninety-five percent Shion talking out loud, but even the five percent of Nezumi’s grumbled responses was welcome company. Walking alone now, with just the dog at his side, Shion realized just how quiet the world was. Occasionally, the wind sent the dried leaves skittering across the hard earth, and once in a while, some structure creaked in the distance, but otherwise: silence.

This far from downtown West Block, you couldn’t hear a thing, but Shion wondered now why one couldn’t hear the going-on in No. 6. The zone was large, and always filled with warm conversation, children’s laughter, the _tic-tic-tic_ of bicycle wheels speeding down its lanes. Shion missed that sometimes: The sound of life being lived. But maybe those happy, carefree sounds could only exist in a bubble. That was not reality; reality was the dead, starved earth outside the wall and the hungry corpses that roamed it.

Shion paused.

He could see the warehouse, no more than a few minutes away, but he heard something more than the wind now. A shrill scream wavered in the air, high and childlike. For a moment, he couldn’t be sure if he was hearing things, and when he realized he wasn’t, he couldn’t be sure if the sound was playful or pleading. Children’s screams had that eerie quality to them, where you could never be sure of the emotion behind them until you saw the child’s face.

The dog pricked up its ears beside him. Its dark eyes roamed the horizon, and a low growl rumbled in its chest. The hair on the back of Shion’s neck prickled. He reached down and rested the tips of his fingers on the holster at his hip. He had seen Nezumi do this so often, he felt a little like an imposter doing it himself.

The dog’s low growl crescendoed, and Shion finally saw what it sensed: Two children, a boy and girl, stumbled over the crest of the hill. The girl looked a bit older and had her thin arms wrapped tightly around the younger boy’s midsection, dragging him alongside her as fast as she could manage.

It was not very fast; the boy was limping badly and sobbing. The girl seemed to be whispering quickly and constantly to him, and it looked like he was trying his best to heed her urgings, but every time he tried to move faster, his leg buckled and he keened in pain.

A third figure shambled into view. The corpse was tall and man-shaped, and even though it couldn’t move quickly, at the pace the children were going, they would not both make it out alive. The girl would, if she left the wounded boy behind, but the strained determination on her face told Shion she would do no such thing.

Shion swallowed. His hands shook as he unclipped his gun and slid it free. But then he just stood there, frozen.

The zombie was moving. Shion had never been taught to shoot a moving target. He had to get closer to shoot with any kind of accuracy. The memory of his training session with Nezumi rose up in his mind, and Shion remembered babbling about how he would just shoot the zombies point blank to avoid ever missing.

He almost laughed out loud at his naivety. _Sure, just walk up to a slavering zombie and shoot it in the head. No pressure._

_ Alright, _he talked himself up as he slid the safety. _I’ll just get the kids to come this way, and when the zombie gets close enough, I’ll shoot. Just like target practice. Zombies are slow, and it’s not like it’s smart enough to dodge. I can do this. I can—_

The dog snarled and pelted straight at the zombie.

“No!” Shion shouted.

The zombie paused at the noise and then began shambling again. Its breathing came in quick, ragged gasps as it changed its focus from the children to the dog. If the creature had the capacity for thought or emotion, Shion would have said it sounded excited.

A strangled whimper escaped Shion’s throat, but he took off at a run. He would never forgive himself if Inukashi’s brother was injured.

“Get inside!” Shion gestured to the warehouse as he passed the children. They stared at him with wide, frightened eyes, but he didn’t have time to repeat himself.

The dog snapped at the zombie’s legs, jumping back just in time to avoid the creature’s clawing hands. Shion’s heart pounded. He needed to get the dog out of the fray; he wouldn’t be able to get a clean shot in the confusion.

“Stop! Come!” he yelled at the dog.

The zombie swung around and Shion’s breath stilled in his chest. It had no eyes at all, just dry brown hollows gaping back at him. Its lips pulled back over its rotted teeth and Shion fired.

Too early. The zombie spun as the bullet clipped its shoulder. It let out a feral hiss. Shion did not breathe and fired again.

The bullet made barely a sound as it punched through the zombie’s face just beneath its nose. The zombie stood before him, growling, its face contorted in a rictus of fury.

_ It’s not dead! How can it not be dead?_

Bile rose in Shion’s throat as he scrambled backward, the gun shaking between them. The zombie took a step toward him—then fell forward with a dusty _whump_.

Shion sucked in a breath and stared down the corpse—now well and truly a corpse. He did it. He killed it.

Shion turned his face and vomited into a cluster of weeds. He hadn’t had much to eat, so thankfully there wasn’t much to throw up, but his throat and eyes burned.

The dog came to his side and licked his hand as though trying to console him. Or maybe it was to urge him to stay present. He had just fired two gunshots into the quiet of West Block; he needed to hide before anything else came to investigate.

Shion staggered to the warehouse. Something moved in the shadows, just behind the sheets he’d hung out to dry. He snapped the gun back up.

“Wait!”

The little girl jumped out, shielding the boy from the line of fire. Shion gasped and lowered the gun’s aim to the ground.

“I’m sorry! I-I didn’t…” He had forgotten about the children.

The girl eyed him. “It’s okay,” she said at last. “I’m sorry we scared you.”

“Is your friend alright? He’s hurt, isn’t he?”

The girl bit her lip and moved aside. The boy sat on a fallen beam, clutching his ankle. There was some blood peeking out from between his fingers.

“Was he—”

“He wasn’t bitten,” the girl snapped. “He fell and hurt himself.”

“Okay… Let me see,” Shion said. He crouched down and waited.

The boy glanced up at the older girl. She nodded and he carefully uncurled his fingers from his ankle. The pressure in Shion’s chest eased. It was just a scrape, as the girl had said. The bleeding had almost stopped, but the skin was bruising purple. He might have sprained or broken the bone.

The dog wandered over from sniffing in some dark corner and began to sniff at the boy instead. Shion remembered then that Inukashi had trained all the dogs to smell the infection, and that if the boy had been bitten, the dog would have alerted him of the danger by now.

The boy flinched back from the dog’s questing muzzle. But once he realized it meant no harm, he reached out and pet its side, a soft sort of wonder in his eyes.

“I have a first aid kit in my room,” Shion said. “I can’t promise I’ll be very good—I’m not a doctor—but I can clean the wound and wrap it up so the smell of blood isn’t so obvious.”

The boy and girl stared at him. Not suspiciously, exactly, but there was an element of discomfort. They were probably not used to kindnesses, and perhaps their parents had warned them off trusting strangers.

“You don’t have to,” Shion said. “But you should stay in here for a bit. I’m not sure if the noise will attract more zombies.”

The boy paled. The girl gnawed her lip and stared down at the floor. “Okay,” she said at length. “If you could wrap it so they can’t smell the blood.... Thank you.”

Shion smiled. “Of course. Do you need help getting him down the stairs?”

“Stairs?”

“Oh. Right. Uh…”

Shion considered whether he should reveal the hidden stairway to the underground room. But then, he had already invited them, so he couldn’t help it now. Besides, they didn’t seem like any kind of threat.

He pushed the part of the wall to open the secret passage. The kids’ lips parted in awe.

“Cool,” murmured the boy.

Shion laughed. “It’s dark down there. I’ll help you carry him.” 

He and the girl each took one of the boy’s arms and shouldered him toward the staircase.

“I’m Shion, by the way.”

“My name’s Karan. And this is my brother Rico.”

“Karan?” Shion’s mouth popped open. “That’s my mom’s name, too!”

Karan’s brows drew together and said nothing. Obviously, she didn’t find this as exciting as Shion did, but he didn’t mind.

It felt like fate now that he should have run into the children and saved them from the zombie. Perhaps it was a gift brought on by his mother’s prayers: though they were far apart, she would always be with him.


	24. Carelessness Kills

Nezumi woke with a start.

It had been a long time since a nightmare had jarred him, but this one had his heart galloping and a fine sheen of sweat beading down his spine.

He hadn’t had this particular dream in a long time: It started with the old woman telling him a story by firelight. She had been crotchety as all hell, but Nezumi had been with her for as long as he could remember, and she was as close to family as he had. This dream memory was the last he had of her; it was the last night they had together before she was bitten.

The happy memory always unraveled in the same way. The old woman’s voice began to waver, then she couldn’t remember what she had been saying, and when Nezumi tried to remind her of her place in the story, she snapped at him. She started sweating and shaking next. She tried to get up, but her legs crumpled beneath her. Nezumi reached out to help, but she crawled away, screaming for him to get back, get away.

“Run, you stupid boy!” she shrieked, her dehydrated skin shrinking and wrinkling and sloughing away beneath her clawing fingers. She screamed until her voice was raw, until the words became a snarl and the fierce black light in her eyes dulled to the greedy gloss of the undead.

The dream had tortured him for unnumbered months from age eleven on. It took years for it to be replaced by less personal terrors. Nezumi stared up at the rotting ceiling and tried to figure out why this dream would come back to haunt him now, after so many years.

The house crackled beneath him. Nezumi laid on the ground, listening, even though he was ninety percent sure it wasn’t the sound of a threat. It never hurt to be careful when carelessness killed.

He was holed up on the second floor of a two-story home, only a few hours’ walk from West Block. He always stayed on the highest floor of the houses he camped out in. It made for a good vantage point, and was a reliable protection against any zombies that ventured into the homes. Most of the creatures no longer possessed the intelligence to open doors, but occasionally one would stumble upon a way into the less secure homes. Even these, though, wouldn’t climb a staircase without due cause. As long as you stayed up high and quiet, you were safe.

The raid for ammunition and supplies had gone off without a hitch. The zombies in the Deadlands were more scattered than they were near the din of town, and Nezumi easily avoided them when he could see them. He kept his knife out as he traveled for those he couldn’t circumvent.

His pack stocked full of ammunition, suppressors, and a selection of canned foods lay beside him, the strap peeking out from under the bed like a rough black snake. Nezumi always slept on the floor and never in the beds of the Deadlands’ houses. The thought skeeved him out—for both hygienic and personal reasons—and the beds’ frames were so rotted they squeaked dangerous promises to whomsoever dared put their weight on them.

Nezumi wasn’t beyond taking the pillows, however, or the blankets, if the nights were cold enough to warrant them. He had laid his leather jacket over the pillow he’d pilfered from the bed, but he could still smell the mold and dust on it, and he couldn’t escape the suspicion that he also smelled like decay now.

_ At least I’ll fit in with the rest of the Deadland population._

Nezumi sniffed at his lame joke and sat up. The photo on the wall caught his eye again.

He had noticed it last night when he was setting up for bed on the floor. It was a family portrait: Mother, father, and son, all dark-haired and bright-eyed. It appeared to be a holiday keepsake, as they were winter pale and decked out in heavy, knitted sweaters. The son looked about his age, and displayed all the long, messy-haired carelessness of youth.

Looking at his face, Nezumi was immediately reminded of Shion. They looked nothing alike in feature—Shion didn’t even have brown hair anymore—but he couldn’t shake the feeling of similarity. Maybe it was the devil-may-care smile, or the abominable ugliness of the sweater (which featured reindeer and Nezumi could absolutely imagine Shion wearing it).

The family in the picture looked happy, and it felt surreal to look at them when the world was in shambles, and one-third of the population shambling. Maybe that was it, then; it was the mood of the portrait, not the son, that reminded Nezumi of Shion: Disorientingly cheerful despite the nightmare that had become of the world.

Nezumi realized then why his nightmare had startled him so badly: He hadn’t had one in weeks. His nights in recent memory had been dreamless. Sometimes he even dreamed of better times. He hadn’t had a nightmare since the beginning of winter.

Since before Shion.

Nezumi’s mood blackened. He tore his eyes from the dusty photo, snatched his bag and jacket from the floor, and pushed to his feet. The view out the second-floor windows told him that there were no zombies near to the house, but there were clusters milling around down the road. He would leave the house through the back and loop around the long way.

Nezumi hefted the pack straps over his shoulders and unsheathed his knife before creeping down the stairs.

The air tasted like ice, but the sky only held a smattering of clouds for the moment. Nezumi tiptoed around the house’s corner and slunk through the quiet streets as quickly as he could. He hated being in neighborhoods. There was too much, too close together. Too many places where you had to measure your steps and worry about what was around the corner. He couldn’t wait till he was back in the open.

A child zombie crawled out of the bushes directly in his path.

“Shit,” Nezumi muttered. See, this was exactly why he hated ghost towns.

The zombie turned slowly at his whispered curse and sniffed the air. Apparently, he didn’t smell nearly enough like mold and dust to pass the undead test, because it parted its lips and began to rumble.

Nezumi darted forward, the yellowed grass and weeds muffling his rapid footfalls, and jammed his knife up under the creature’s chin before it could get off a rasp that might alert others in the area. He twisted and yanked the knife out with practiced quickness and sprung back from the zombie’s wheeling arms.

It took a second, but the thing soon realized it had expired and crumpled sideways in a heap of tattered dress skirts and leathery limbs. Nezumi swiped the knife blade across the side of his thigh to clean it of residue and kept moving.

Luckily, he didn’t run into any others in the neighborhood and was soon making good time back towards West Block.

It had already been two days since he left Shion, alone, in the underground room, and Nezumi’s anxiety grew with each mile closer to home. There was a close by water source and enough meager rations for Shion to live on during his absence, so there should have been no reason for him to venture more than a few hundred feet from the house, and therefore no reason for Nezumi to worry about what he had gotten up to.

But Shion never did what Nezumi wanted him to do—what he _needed_ him to do. And so Nezumi fully expected to come home to something unpleasant and unaccounted for.

He just hoped that something would not be Shion’s wandering corpse.

_ If Shion’s dead, I swear to god, I’m gonna kill him._

These vengeful thoughts accompanied Nezumi for four hours of nonstop striding through barren fields and close copses of even more barren woods.

When the toothpick outline of the West Block barricade came into view, Nezumi slowed his gait. He stood on the hillside overlooking the path he had to take back to the underground bunker and counted the black dots weaving outside the perimeter of the fence. Nine in the straightforward path alone. Nezumi pursed his lips. If he went around the long way, it would add another hour to his journey. He just wanted to be home already.

Nezumi slipped his pack off one arm and swung it around to his front. He carefully removed the vial and small container of water from the left side pocket and replaced the backpack. The vial held a small sample of his blood, which he had collected a few days ago in the safety of his own home. He always kept such vials on him when he ventured out into the Deadlands, though the number he packed depended on the length and perceived danger level of the journey.

It was a trick he had learned from another raider many years back: The scent of the blood would attract the zombies, and pull them all in one direction, away from wherever you wanted to travel. If you had to keep the blood for a few days, water was needed to revive the scent and disseminate it.

Nezumi sure footed his way down the hillside and walked perpendicular to the path home until he found a good rock, a far enough distance away. He placed the vial down, uncapped the water, and picked up a mid-sized rock. The vial shattered when he smashed the rock down, the glass shards pricking uselessly at Nezumi’s leather-gloved hands. He dashed some water over the rusty remains and sprinted back up the hillside to watch.

The wind was blowing favorably from the north, and it didn’t take long for the zombie silhouettes to migrate and congregate around the vial site. Zombies were obnoxious, but at least they were easily led.

Nezumi hurried toward the West Block fence. He pushed aside one of the refrigerators that made up part of the barricade and squeezed himself through the gap before tugging it back into place.

_ Safe._

The hypervigilance burning in Nezumi’s brain uncoiled and settled into the routine buzz of suspicion. At last, he allowed himself to feel the exhausted drag on his muscles from the constant running and hiding and killing. He couldn’t wait to get home, take a shower, and sleep for at least ten hours.

He headed for the bunker at a jog, still with his knife in his hand. The likelihood of an attack within the confines of West Block were low, but they weren’t nil. Besides, zombies weren’t the only things around here known to attack unsuspecting persons; Inukashi had picked fights with Nezumi out in the open plenty of times.

Nezumi slowed as he reached the warehouse district. There was a body lying between him and the entrance to the bunker. He leered at it as he crept closer. It wasn’t unusual to stumble upon a body or two in West Block, especially in the thick of winter, but it was rare to find them all the way out here so far from civilization.

The white hair proved what he suspected: He had a neutralized zombie just yards from his home. Nezumi kicked its leg, just to make sure it was down for good, and when it didn’t stir, he crouched to inspect it. The corpse was pretty far into decomp, so this wasn’t a case of someone contracting the infection and turning within West Block. Either the zombie snuck in through a weakened part of the fence, or some idiot brought it in for fun. There were kids dumb enough to do such a thing, and, sadly, a good number of adults as well.

Whomever put the zombie down had used a gun—twice. There were shots in its shoulder and face. Nezumi pursed his lips and looked toward the warehouse.

He slipped down the stairs to the underground passage as quick and silent as a shadow and tested the door: Locked.

_ Good._

Nezumi fished his key out of his pocket and slid it into the lock. The door swung open without a sound; although the exterior of the door was rusted to hell, Nezumi had spent painstaking hours oiling the hinges until they didn’t so much as whisper.

The room appeared unchanged from when he left it. The bed was neatly made; the same stacks of to-read books lay waiting on the book bench; the dented soup pot perched atop the kerosene heater, ready to be filled with the day’s watery soup.

There was just one thing missing from the scene.

Nezumi locked the door behind him and took a step into the room. Three small blurs rocketed out from beneath the bed and raced up Nezumi’s pant leg, squeaking up a storm. A small smile tugged at Nezumi’s lips. The mice chirped from his shoulder, taking turns rubbing the sides of their faces against his neck.

Nezumi clicked his tongue. “It’s not like I haven’t gone on trips before. And I didn’t leave you alone this time.”

As if on cue, Shion came out from between the bookcases.

He had apparently just gotten out of the shower, and was in the middle of toweling off his hair, but he stopped mid-scrub at the sound of Nezumi’s voice and tore the towel away from his face to gawk.

His dumbfounded expression was hilarious, and Nezumi was just about to tell him so, but Shion shouted, “You’re back!” threw the towel onto the bed, and launched himself at Nezumi.

Nezumi inhaled sharply as Shion hugged him around the waist and buried his head against his unoccupied shoulder. He was warm from the shower and smelled like the lemon soap Nezumi had brought back from his last trip into the Deadlands.

“Welcome home,” Shion sighed.

Nezumi held his hands out on either side of him, unsure of what to do with them. “Er, Shion? This is...”

Shion burrowed deeper against his shoulder and the tip of his nose brushed Nezumi’s collarbone. Nezumi’s pulse jumped.

He grasped Shion’s shoulders and eased him back. Thankfully, Shion peeled away from him without a fight, but he smiled and stared at Nezumi with all the bright-eyed affection of a spaniel. His adoring gaze looked even more pathetic with the yellow smear of the healing bruise under his left eye to highlight it.

Nezumi didn’t know what to do with this reception or the stupid way it made his chest feel. It had only been two days; he didn’t think his return warranted this depth of excitement.

Nezumi cleared his throat. “Don’t go throwing yourself all over me. It’s dirty—this isn’t mud on my pants.”

Shion blinked and glanced at the brown smears on Nezumi’s clothing. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” He took a step back and his smile returned. “I’m glad you’re home. I missed you.”

Nezumi’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. Right… I forgot what it was like to live with you. Awkward heartfelt declarations out the ears.”

He slipped his backpack off, snatched the towel from the floor where Shion had dropped it, and brushed by Shion. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Nezumi washed up and stood in the shower until the warm water exhausted itself. He should have known Shion would overreact at his arrival, although he hadn’t expected him to leap into his arms like some romantic heroine. Nezumi thought he had drawn the line quite clearly on what friendly interactions he would tolerate, but apparently it only took Shion two days of solitude to forget the no-touching rule. He would have to be reminded.

The showerhead flow began to transition from mild to icy. Nezumi huffed and twisted the knob off. He dressed and gave his short hair a quick fluff with the towel before throwing it blindly in the direction of the bed.

Shion made a startled sound. He had been perched on the edge of the bed, awaiting Nezumi, and had barely reacted in time to dodge the towel inadvertently lobbed at him.

Nezumi arched an eyebrow. “What are you doing just sitting there? I hoped you might have made yourself useful by heating up soup or something, but I guess I expected too much.”

“I’ll get something,” Shion blurted, jumping to his feet. “We don’t have soup, but I got…”

He disappeared into the bookcases and scrounged around, the sound of paper crinkling following him wherever he poked. Shion came out and proffered the heel of a bread loaf and a handful of dried meat strips.

“I bought these yesterday. No mold on the bread—I checked—and the meat’s of mysterious origin, but it’s all we could afford, and I ate it yesterday and didn’t get sick, so it seems okay.”

Nezumi took the food and tore off a chunk of the bread with his teeth.

“How was your trip? Did you get the ammo you needed?”

“And then some. Stole some canned food, too, so we won’t have to eat mystery meat for a few days.”

Nezumi indicated the bag he’d dropped by the door. Shion glanced at it with interest, but made no move to investigate. Instead, he hovered by Nezumi’s side as if he wanted to be more useful, but didn’t know how.

“Anything exciting happen while I was gone?” Nezumi asked, wandering a few steps toward the bookcases.

“Well, I went outside… I know you told me not to unless it was absolutely necessary, but Inukashi needed me to finish the dog washing we started. But they lent me a dog for protection, so it was perfectly safe.”

_ Did they? Curious. _It appeared Inukashi had taken a liking to Shion. Nezumi filed the tidbit away.

“And I brought my gun with me, as promised.”

“Hm.” Nezumi caught sight of Shion’s holster, slung over the back of the faded chair. He approached and ran his fingers over the gun’s grip. “Did you end up using it?”

Shion didn’t answer, and Nezumi twisted around to find him looking ill at ease.

“Once,” Shion said at last.

“Corpse outside says twice.”

Shion paled. “It’s still there?

“Of course it’s still there. The dead only rise once. The body will stay there until you move it or pay someone to do it for you.”

Shion swallowed and looked aside, towards the book bench where the mice had heaped in a pile for a nap.

Nezumi took a step back from the holster and chewed his bread and meat silently for a moment. “Good job.”

Shion turned back to him and furrowed his brow.

“Killing the zombie,” Nezumi said, although he thought it was obvious what he meant. “I wasn’t totally sure you had it in you, but you pulled through when it counted. That’s good.”

Shion shifted and balled his fists in his sweater sleeves. His hair was still damp, but already Nezumi could see that it was going to dry in a mess. Shion’s hair had a slight natural kink to it that Nezumi’s didn’t. While Nezumi’s hair could be left to air dry and still come out straight and presentable, if Shion didn’t comb his, he ended up looking like a freshly hatched cygnet.

“The zombie was chasing two kids,” Shion mumbled, “and one of them was hurt. If I didn’t step in, it would have gotten them.”

Of course.

Of course Shion’s first kill had been in the defense of two helpless children. Only the noblest of causes for His Majesty.

Nezumi scowled and stuffed the remaining meat into his mouth before heading to the bed. He was determined to sleep for the remainder of the daylight hours and not talk to Shion anymore if he could help it, but he paused just as he reached to pull the blanket down. Little brown and black hairs peppered the sheets at the foot of the bed, too big for mice and too small for humans.

“Did you,” Nezumi asked, plucking a strand of hair from the blanket and inspecting it with an ever-darkening visage, “allow an animal other than the mice onto this bed?”

Shion blinked at him. Color rose, bright and fast, into his cheeks. “I...might have let…Inukashi’s dog sleep over last night. With Inukashi’s permission, of course.”

Nezumi’s mouth twitched into a grim smile. “With _Inukashi’s _permission, huh?”

Shion performed a rapid pantomime of shame before finding his resolve and lashing back with, “You weren’t here. What was I supposed to do? Mouse you?”

The mice raised their heads and squeaked, as though complaining of being dragged into this fight.

“I’m sorry,” Shion muttered. “It was just the one night. I hated sleeping alone; I didn’t want to do it again.”

Shion stared at the ground. Nezumi refused to acknowledge the heat creeping up the back of his neck and did not comment. He released the hair pinched between his fingers and let it drift to the carpet.

“I’m going to bed. If you wouldn’t mind being quiet for the next few hours, that’d be great.”

Shion puffed up his cheeks. “I was just about to go out anyway, so you’ll have your quiet.”

Nezumi stopped halfway through the process of crawling into bed and blurted, “Out? Where?” before his brain reminded him that he didn’t care and he contrived to look inconvenienced.

But really. Not half an hour ago Shion was hanging on him and whining about how much he missed him, and now he was leaving? In the forty-eight hours since Nezumi went away, Shion had somehow established a life in which he _went out and did things_?

Shion perked up.

“I’m going to visit the children next door, the ones I saved from the zombie. The older one is named Karan, just like my mom! Isn’t that weird? It’s not a common name.” Shion grinned and moved towards the bookcases. “I promised I’d read to them today.”

Nezumi knew there was a single mother and her children living somewhere nearby, but he hadn’t cared to know more than that. But Shion _would_ make friends with them. He had a child’s trusting temperament and penchant for easy distraction.

“I just need to pick out a book, and then I’ll leave you in peace.”

Nezumi scowled. He glanced at the stacks of books on the book bench and seized upon one. “Here,” he said as he grabbed it, “bring this one. It’s perfect; it’s about you.”

Shion took it from him and stared down at the title of the children’s book: _If You Give a Mouse a Cookie_. The small smile threatening his lips told Nezumi that Shion understood what he was getting at, but Shion met his eye and asked innocently, “Well, you’re the mouse, so does that mean I’m the cookie?”

Nezumi snorted. “Alas, you are the mouse.”

“Oh, so I’ve earned mouse status, have I?” Shion’s gaze flitted between the slumbering rodents and Nezumi and his smile grew more pronounced. “I’m honored.”

“Not so fast. You’re probationary, at best.”

A light laugh escaped Shion’s lips. “I’ll take it. And I’ll take this book. I think Karan and Rico will like it. They really enjoyed meeting the mice yesterday.”

Nezumi didn’t like how that implied Shion had let the neighbor’s children into the underground room as well as one of Inukashi’s dogs, but he was exhausted and decided to let it go until morning.


	25. A World with That Much Darkness

The man drummed his fingers on his desk as he listened to the officers make their report. He sighed when they’d finished, a wriggle of displeasure worming its way down his spine.

Earlier in the week, the Security Bureau had received a ping about a citizen who had returned from her study abroad program early. It wasn’t an issue at first. Her grandmother had passed, and so they only kept tabs, thinking she would go back to No. 5 when the funeral and cremation was taken care of. The girl, however, terminated her study abroad abruptly and started buying up suspicious travel supplies and consorting with surveilled persons.

The Security Bureau deemed her a security risk and arrested her.

“That is unfortunate,” the man said, imagining the hissy fit the Mayor must have had when he heard the news. But the girl’s flightiness inconvenienced himself as well, perhaps even more than it did the Mayor, since the execution of their grand plan was his part.

The strategy was to release their manufactured Elyurias strain—so named after the god their first test subjects worshipped, because the man had liked the sound of it—into the other quarantine zones in the next few weeks. The virus was to be introduced through a two-pronged method: One, through the exchange students they’d sent to the other zones, who would be injected at their next medical check-up in a week, and two, through physicians that the Mayor had planted in zones 1-5 months ago. The physicians would spread the virus randomly to the regular populace of the zones at their medical establishments, so as to throw off suspicion about the No. 6 students being the source.

The girl returning to No. 6 and refusing to return to her exchange in No. 5 was not a complete wrench in the works—everything would go off just as well with one less person—but it was a deviation from the man’s plan, and he hated when his plans went awry even a centimeter.

He couldn’t help but feel personally offended.

The man sighed again and employed his pale, spidery fingers in unrolling his lab coat sleeves as he calmed his wounded ego. He had been working with virus samples earlier, and it always felt like his sleeves got in the way of his thinking.

“I suppose the Mayor wants me to handle this?” he asked.

The Security Bureau officers gave a perfunctory nod, in perfect unison. They really were spectacularly trained, but then they had to be to do the unsavory things their government asked of them. The man had a notion of the intense screening and conditioning the officers went through before they were allowed to enter active duty, but their training had nothing to do with his research, and therefore he remembered none of the particulars. All he needed in an officer was the ability to keep mum and secure his test subjects.

“Right,” the man said, inspecting his sleeves and deeming them in good order. “Her background, then? Will anyone come looking for her?”

“Unlikely, sir,” said one of the officers, the older one who had a pleasant albeit impassive face. “Her late grandmother was her last of kin. The woman she visited the night we apprehended her is an old family friend, though they didn’t seem to keep close contact in the last four years. The woman, however, is the mother of our last escaped subject. She hasn’t shown any indication of unrest in reaction to her son’s disappearance, so we believe she will not do anything in response to the girl’s disappearance either. But we’ll continue to watch her for signs of rebellion.”

“Here is a file on the girl’s particulars, sir,” said the second officer and stepped forward to place a cream file folder on his desk.

The man didn’t like this officer as much as his partner. His face was disproportionate, his nose taking up too much space, and he was quite a bit shorter than his fellow—all of which irked the man’s OCD.

The man glanced over the girl’s aptitude and health scores. “Smart girl. Pity.”

He already knew that intelligence had no bearing on the results of virus trials, so it was a shame when he discovered a subject was more than usually intelligent. Such a waste of resources that could be put to better use in the advancement of the zone. But the girl had made a stupid decision in trying to rebel, and now it was his job to make sure she was put to as good use as her fallen state would allow.

He flipped the folder shut. “Thank you. You can tell the Mayor I’ll take care of this matter. There’s one experiment that’s been kicking around my brain a while now. If we could get the virus to propagate in response to resonance…” He was quiet for a moment as he considered the variables involved. “Anyway,” he said once he came back to himself, “the Mayor needn’t worry himself over the girl anymore. You may go.”

The officers bowed crisply and left the room to the man and his sinister calculations. 

* * *

“Does anyone here ever talk about where the virus originated?”

Nezumi froze mid-yawn and lulled his head in Shion’s direction.

It was just past lunchtime and they had settled into companionable silence, reading and relaxing, Shion curled with knees up in the faded chair and Nezumi reclined on the bed.

Shion had been reading a medical journal when the question bubbled to his lips, and as he watched Nezumi and waited for his answer, he absently pricked his finger on the corner of the journal’s cover over and over because he liked the sensation.

Silently, he was measuring the probabilities of Nezumi’s response being wary vs. detached vs. irritated. He looked tired with his head leaned back against the wall and a book flipped pages down on his lap, but his grey eyes were keen.

“No,” Nezumi said. “Why would they?”

“I was wondering if people here might know—or at least talk more about it—since they aren’t subject to the same restrictions as those in No. 6. You knew there was a vaccine created, so I thought the origin might be common knowledge as well.”

“The vaccine isn’t common knowledge. If it were, West Block citizens might seriously consider storming the walls of our good neighbor Quarantine Zone No. 6.”

“...So why don’t you tell them?” An angry mob outside No. 6’s walls sounded like it’d be right down Nezumi’s alley.

“Because,” Nezumi drawled, as though he were talking to a slow-witted child, “it wouldn’t work. They’d be mowed down as soon as they came within the wall patrol’s scopes, and with that many bodies clogging up the streets, we’d have a mob of zombies on our asses. The only people who win in that scenario are the government officials, and I won’t give them the satisfaction.”

Shion nodded slowly. “That’s a good point… We’d have to figure out a way to control the panic and reassure the citizens.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If I’m able to turn my blood into a serum, we’d need to make sure we have protocol in place to deal with citizen panic, to let them know that as long as they’re patient, everyone will be able to receive the vaccination.”

“This again,” Nezumi scoffed. “Shion, you’re not making a serum out of your blood.”

“Why not? I survived the infection. Something was different about me; I could be immune, and if I am, then I could inoculate everyone against it. I _should_. I have a responsibility to do so.”

“You have no such thing.”

The air in the room seemed to thicken and bear down on them. Nezumi set his book aside and slid to the edge of the bed. All traces of weariness had disappeared from his face; his eyes were dark and electric. 

Shion’s body tensed instinctively, but he forced his shoulders to relax, and said, “I do. Whatever Yamase had, it was different from the first wave. They may have a cure for the West Block strain, but there’s no vaccine for the one I contracted. We have no way of knowing if or when it will spread, and if there’s an outbreak in No. 6, I might be the only chance they have at stopping it.”

Shion’s mouth dried at the realization. What if there was already an outbreak in No. 6? They would never know until it was too late. He needed to find out if there was a way to check on the status of the city.

“I need to start on a serum, and soon. My mom lives there, Nezumi.”

“So let me get this straight: Your plan is to manufacture a vaccine to the fancy No. 6 strain, hand it over to the government, no strings attached, and save all the poor ailing elites. All the while, everyone in West Block is slowly being picked off by the old strain, for which No. 6 already has a vaccine but refuses to share it. Does that seem right to you?”

“Well… No. It doesn’t.” Shion closed his book and laid it in his lap. “I still don’t understand why, if the No. 6 government has a vaccine, they don’t share it with the people. We wouldn't need quarantine zones if people don’t have to worry about infection.”

“Most of the world isn’t like you, Shion. They don’t care about other people, they only care about themselves.”

“Well, that’s wrong,” Shion huffed. “If you can make a cure, then you have a duty to share it. And that’s why, if I can make a serum, I’m going to do it. And I’ll do everything in my power to get the vaccine to the old strain released. The government might want to keep it a secret, but I guarantee if you told the people of No. 6 about it, they would want the vaccine circulated.”

Nezumi’s hands fisted in the covers. “I bet you’re wrong. I bet they’d horde it to themselves and keep the doors locked up tight against the world outside, just as they’ve always done.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Nezumi leered at him for a full breath. Then his hands relaxed their grip on the blankets and he shrugged a shoulder. “Fine. It’s a pipedream, anyway. It’s not like you can _actually_ make a serum of your blood.” He slid off the bed and flicked the kerosene heater on. “You can be as smart and hopeful as you want, but that’s not going to make beakers and syringes appear. West Block doesn’t have fancy medical equipment like that.”

“I’ve thought about that, and I think I could convince Mr. Rikiga to get ahold of the equipment for me. You saw how much money and resources he has.”

Nezumi stilled for a moment, but then straightened and raised an eyebrow at him, a sardonic half-smile playing on his lips. “That washed-up drunk? He won’t help you unless there’s something in it for him. Unless your serum can also cure alcoholism or get him laid, he’s not going to want any part of it.”

Shion scratched restlessly at the grooved fabric of his pants. “Maybe,” he allowed. “But he and my mom were close, so he might be willing to help me out. I won’t know until I ask.” He took up his book and rose to place it back on the shelf on which he found it. “If I were able to explain the importance of the serum to him, how many lives it could save—”

Nezumi yanked Shion by the collar of his shirt and kicked the back of his knee out. Shion landed on the bed, hard enough to bounce once before Nezumi was on top of him, his knee pressed hard into Shion’s arm and a hand pushing his opposite shoulder down into the mattress.

Shion scowled at him. “_Ow_?” He wriggled, but there was no escape. “Come on, Nezumi, you’re being immature.”

Nezumi’s eyes glittered like ice shards. Out of the corner of his eye, Shion saw Nezumi’s knife flash under the lights. He tilted his head up as the cold, smooth metal slithered against the underside of his chin.

The memory of the night they first met flitted through Shion’s mind. Nezumi had pinned him to his bed just as quickly and easily then, and purred threats into his ear as he pressed a spoon to his throat. Shion had always remembered the moment with wonder and fondness, but seeing it reenacted now with a knife, he didn’t feel quite so enamored.

“If I remember correctly,” Nezumi murmured, “you said you’d punch me next time I put a knife to you.” His voice was soft, affectionate. A cat taunting the mouse it kept captive beneath its paw. “So? Care to try?”

“No.”

Nezumi’s gaze had dropped to watch the trail of the knife against Shion’s skin, but now the knife paused and Nezumi’s eyes lifted to meet his. His mouth curved into a hungry, pitiless smile. “Because you know you can’t.”

“No,” Shion said grimly. “Because you’re being a jerk and I don’t feel like kissing you.”

“_Tch_.”

The knife withdrew.

“I won’t let you make a serum, Shion. If you try to, I’ll destroy it. I hope you’re right and a mutation of the virus is due to run rampant through No. 6. I hope it kills them all. They deserve it.”

The pressure on Shion’s arm and shoulder eased, and Nezumi drew back. Shion sat up and caught Nezumi’s wrist.

“Why do you hate No. 6 so much?”

A muscle slid in Nezumi’s jaw. “The whole zone is a eugenics project. One day a group of dusty old men decided half of the population deserved to live and the other half got to stay out here and be fodder for the undead. The people there couldn’t give less of a shit whether we live or die. The whole place is built on blood and greed, and it deserves to burn.”

Nezumi tugged his wrist, but Shion held on tightly, drawing it closer to his chest for greater control. 

“No, I want to know your personal reason. Ever since I came here, you’ve told me to only care about myself, and forget everyone else. So you wouldn’t expend your energy on hating No. 6 for anything less than a personal vendetta. So why? Is it revenge?”

Nezumi didn’t say anything, and Shion’s grip on his wrist slackened.

“For what? Did No. 6 do something to you?”

“That’s not your business.”

“It could be, if you told me.”

Nezumi blinked at him. A slight smile crept into the corners of his lips—a real smile, not one laced with anger or cynicism. Though there was something sad about it.

“That so?” Nezumi said quietly. “You’re saying that if I tell you, you’d be on my side one-hundred percent? You’d forget about making a serum and stand with me and watch as the dead consume the city?”

“...No.” Shion’s chest tingled with regret. “I couldn’t do that, Nezumi. There are innocent people in No. 6. I won’t abandon them.”

Nezumi snatched his hand back and stood. The cold fury on his face was fierce enough to make Shion feel small and ashamed despite his resolve.

“You’re always like this,” Nezumi seethed. “You poke and prod and annoy the hell out of me asking, and then you can’t handle what I tell you. I hate that about you. If you don’t want the truth, then don’t ask.”

Shion bit his lip and turned aside. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to reject Nezumi’s truths, but why did they have to be so harsh and unforgiving?

“Let’s make this simple.” Nezumi took Shion by the chin and made him look him in the eye. “Me or No. 6, Shion? You have to choose one, because you can’t have both.”

Shion wanted to shy away from the question, but he knew he had to answer this one. He always felt like this ultimatum was coming. Nezumi’s hatred for No. 6 was inflexible, and so was Shion’s belief in salvation.

He didn’t want to go back to No. 6. He had no particular attachment to the place. Shion felt far more at home here in West Block, cloistered in the underground room, or laughing under the sun washing dogs while Inukashi cursed and grumbled at him.

But his mother lived in No. 6, and Safu. And though the government ruled through fearmongering and deception, the city was rife with beauty and beautiful people. He had created many fond memories there. He couldn’t bear to see it all ravaged and destroyed.

But that was all Nezumi wanted: To see No. 6 brought low like West Block. Its people holed up in their houses, too suspicious to approach or trust or love those around them, for fear that they would turn and attack the next day.

Shion did not want to live in a world with that much darkness.

“I can see the answer on your face.”

Nezumi’s fingers were ice cold, but when they slipped off his chin, Shion missed their touch.

“You’re always going to love No. 6 and I’ll never stop hating it. That’s why we’re bound to become enemies. Someday soon, we’ll have to go our separate ways.” Nezumi’s voice was quiet and faraway, as if already he was cutting ties with their relationship.

Shion’s chest tightened. He didn’t want Nezumi to be farther from him than he already was. He could take being held at arm's-length, but no more.

Nezumi glanced at the clock on the wall. “Shit. It’s late; I have work.”

Shion’s breaths shallowed as he watched Nezumi snatch his boots from beneath the bed and tug them on over his thick, worn socks. A moment ago, they’d be in the heat of an argument, but all traces of annoyance and consideration had vanished from Nezumi’s face, replaced by a placid purpose.

That’s how quickly Shion was forgotten.

That’s how quickly he would be forgotten.

One day, someday soon by Nezumi’s account, Nezumi would abandon him. He would take his darkness and his storms and unleash them elsewhere, without a thought as to the damage it inflicted on those he’d left behind.

Shion grasped Nezumi’s elbow as he tried to brush by. “I’m not your enemy. I never will be.”

He squeezed tight as he said the words, and felt mollified when the corners of Nezumi’s eyes pinched in discomfort.

“Don’t underestimate me. You hate that I don’t just accept everything you say? Well, I hate how you always look down on me. You always talk about the world like it’s black and white, but it isn’t. Things aren’t that clear cut.”

Nezumi lifted his chin and scowled down at him. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Nezumi took a step closer. They were nearly nose-to-nose, but Shion refused to be cowed; he did not step back and his glower didn’t waver.

“If you think you can continue through life without sacrificing anything, you’re lying to yourself,” Nezumi said. “Eventually you’re going to have to make a choice. You can’t keep running away.”

“Maybe there are some things I have to sacrifice, but not everything has to be either-or. Why can’t I have both sometimes? Why can’t I save No. 6 and keep you in my life?”

Nezumi scoffed, but Shion raised his voice and continued before he could voice any disparaging remarks.

“I refuse to be your enemy, and I don’t want to leave you. I’m willing to work with you and figure out another way, but you refuse to accept anything but your own views. I’m not the one who pushes everyone and everything away; that’s _you_. _You’re _the one who’s running.”

Nezumi bristled. Usually when he was angry, it was the cool, venomous sort, but now he looked as though he could spit fire.

Shion felt a sick thrill of accomplishment at the sight.

_ That’s right. You’re not perfect and you don’t know everything, least of all about me._

They both opened their mouths to unleash their next assault—and the door bucked.

Nezumi and Shion jumped and whirled toward the sound.

“More of your friends?” Nezumi said, his voice low and wary.

“I don’t think—”

_ Woof! _The door rattled again, accompanied by the shred of dog claws down the rusty metal.

Shion blinked. Nezumi raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled sheepishly.

“Maybe,” Shion admitted, and crossed the room to open the door.

Inukashi’s little brother bounded in, looking excited and self-important. He barked at Nezumi, as if to say, “Nice to see you again,” then sat at Shion’s feet and lifted his head to show the note tucked into his collar. Shion laughed at this proud display. 

Nezumi only clicked his tongue. “Inukashi poached my animal messaging system.”

Shion plucked the note out and smiled. “They want me to work for them full-time as a dog washer! And they’ll pay me!”

“Joy,” Nezumi intoned. “You do that.”

“I will,” Shion said with a little of his prior snappishness.

Nezumi’s eyes narrowed, but then he huffed. “Well, go on then. Doesn’t the mutt want you to come with him now? I’ll walk partway with you, since it’s on the way and I’m already unforgivably late for work.”

The dog nipped at Shion’s heels as he hurried to get his coat.


	26. Six Feet Under

Nezumi blew out a breath as Shion ran around like a headless chicken, collecting his coat, gloves, and hat while Inukashi’s rangy mongrel ran amok around them. The kid gets an invite from Inukashi, and suddenly their fight was forgotten and Nezumi no longer existed.

_ What a hassle_.

Nezumi had never been someone who was quick to anger; before Shion, only the thought of No. 6 brought any sort of strong emotion out of him. But there was something about Shion that always lit a fire in his veins. It seemed like the other teen had been born with the ability to push his buttons just so—and worse, lately it seemed like Shion had been pushing those buttons on purpose.

It was like he _enjoyed _seeing Nezumi mad.

Maybe Shion was going stir crazy at last. It couldn’t have been easy for him to make the transition from his posh, uneventful life in No. 6 to the harrowing day to day of West Block. Nezumi was surprised Shion had made it this far without a complete meltdown.

_ Or maybe I’m starting to rub off on him_.

Nezumi furrowed his brow at the thought. It caught him somewhere between amusement and worry.

“Excuse me,” said Shion, gesturing to the door.

He had apparently collected everything he needed, and now stood before Nezumi grinning, his dark eyes sparkling under the brim of the hat he’d shoved haphazardly over his head.

Nezumi’s stomach tightened and the hair at the back of his neck prickled. He had begun to experience this unsettling visceral reaction when faced with Shion more and more as of late. It was the source of most of his anger toward him, the reason he kept wanting to shove Shion and snap at him.

But this time, he held himself in check, and took a step back so Shion could escape out the door. The pressure in Nezumi’s chest eased once Shion had disappeared into the hall and the echo of his clumsy footfalls on the stairs faded.

Nezumi sighed—and grimaced immediately.

He hated sighing, and yet, he kept doing it. Nearly every time he and Shion fought now, Nezumi would stalk away to cool down, and before he knew it, he was sighing and cursing himself. Sighing expended precious breath that could be put to better use elsewhere; it was the most useless way of dealing with hardship. Same with crying. Both did absolutely nothing but expend energy and waste time.

The old woman had taught him that lesson, and Nezumi had never forgotten it.

Nezumi shook his head and turned for the door, but a soft squeak gave him pause. Hamlet sat by his feet, his little body shivering with quick, exhausted breaths. Nezumi hadn’t seen the brown mouse since last night when he sent him to bring Shion’s mom news of Shion’s continued safety.

Hamlet chirped again, and began to climb Nezumi’s pant leg, but it was slow going, and halfway through the process, Nezumi took pity on the mouse and scooped him up. Hamlet nuzzled his palm and then spat a capsule out onto it.

The light in the room seemed to dim, as though a cloud were passing overhead. A new heaviness seeped into Nezumi’s limbs and pressed down on his shoulders. His sixth sense for danger had been finely honed over the years, and the capsule in his hand was giving off an aura so foreboding that Nezumi wanted to burn it on sight.

He crossed the room and placed Hamlet down on the bed, so the exhausted mouse could get some well-earned rest. Then Nezumi gingerly unfurled the pale blue note. Cold creeped over his skin as he read the words.

_ Safu was taken away by the Security Bureau. Help. -K_

_ Shit. _Nezumi clenched the note in his fist and screwed his eyes shut.

Safu. She was Shion’s friend from No. 6, wasn’t she? He remembered Shion mentioning her a few times. She was one of the reasons, apart from his mother, that Shion still held any fondness for the parasite city he called home. If she was taken by the Security Bureau, she must have caused trouble, and if that were the case, then there was only one place she would be brought: The Correctional Facility.

Safu was long gone by now; no one who set foot in the Correctional Facility returned. Nezumi had an idea of what happened to most of them. Even if he could get Safu out, it might not be all of her.

Knowing this, what should he do with the note? Nezumi’s instincts told him to chuck it in the trash. The chances that the girl was alive were shit, and besides, he didn’t know her. She meant nothing to him.

But she meant something to Shion.

Nezumi knew what Shion would want if he saw the note: To go charging after her, Deadlands and danger and slim chances be damned. Even if Nezumi told him it was a bad idea and explained all reasons why it would be pointless, Shion would still go, because he was a fool and a masochist that wouldn’t accept the truth unless he was staring into its merciless eyes.

Shion would rush after his lost friend and get himself killed trying to rescue her.

_ So what?_

Shion was old enough to make his own choices. If he was stupid enough to go on a suicide mission, then he deserved the end that came to him. Nezumi had taught him how to shoot and told him time and again how to live to survive—what Shion chose to do with that knowledge was his prerogative. Nezumi’s debt to Shion should be well and fully discharged by now. He had already paid the idiot back tenfold by safeguarding him, and feeding him, and teaching him all these months.

_ Good._ _It’s settled, then._

Shion would go off to be a big damn hero and Nezumi could finally go back to life as usual. No more squirming for space and blanket during the night; no more fussing about whether he had scraped enough together for food every week; no more incessant questions or complaints or silent longing looks. Nezumi would finally have his quiet back.

Nezumi’s eyes traced the room from the empty chair, to the battered book Shion had dropped, to the dull shadows of the bookcases, and his chest felt carved out. Nezumi had always thought his underground hideaway was cozy, just the right size for someone who had never wanted or expected much. But suddenly, it seemed cramped and confining. The air was stagnant and cold, and the dust tickled the back of his throat.

The room was a sepulcher six feet under. Nezumi imagined living in it alone and a pall settled over his heart.

Life without Shion… What did that look like again? Nezumi could only remember that time in snatches. It came to him more as impressions than specific moments: the drudgery, the burning indignance and bone-numbing indifference. Nothing could reach him—not pain, not love, not remorse. The only thing he felt with any regularity was the deep-seated anger that reminded him why he had to keep going. It was empty living, but it was living nonetheless. It was safe and he knew what to expect.

Life with Shion was nothing like that. The anger was still there, simmering deep and occasionally rising to the surface in explosive bursts, but it hadn’t consumed him in the same way. There was so much more to distract him now. He _never_ knew what to expect. Shion was like a child, looking at the world through wide, wondering eyes, and Nezumi had to keep grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and pulling him out of the messes he had good-naturedly walked himself into.

But Shion was more than that—if he wasn’t, Nezumi would have cut ties with him long ago.

For all Shion’s tenderness and naivete, he was made of hard stuff. No matter how many times the ground was torn out from beneath him, no matter how many times he was knocked down, Shion got back to his feet. He never stopped fighting or questioning, and although he groused about Nezumi’s tone or methods, he never ran from the challenges put before him.

Despite what Nezumi told himself and accused Shion of, Shion was not a coward, nor was he a burden. He didn’t back down when he believed in something, and he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, even when he knew it would bring him into direct confrontation with others. It had been so long since Nezumi had had a conversation that didn’t revolve around money or food. Too often these days he found himself holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable moment when Shion lowered his book and his face took on that introspective quality that signaled he was about to give Nezumi the third-degree.

Nezumi hadn’t realized how stagnant his life had been until Shion elbowed his way into it.

When Shion spoke, he was all passion and conviction. He was blinding and Nezumi had lost count of the amount of times he was blind-sided by Shion’s righteous indignation. And sometimes, when Shion got really fired up, for a moment Nezumi believed Shion could really achieve all the good he waxed romantic about.

But the world made no exceptions for goodness. It was rotted to the core, and Nezumi knew that society would never live up to Shion’s expectations. Basic human nature wouldn’t allow it. There were people like Shion out there, but they were not in the majority. Those with the power to make the changes Shion dreamed of were without conscience or kindness. They would crush Shion underfoot as swiftly and surely as a boot would an errant insect.

And that’s why Shion was so exhausting, and why Nezumi wished he would absorb his lessons better and act more like a hardened citizen of West Block, instead of the starry-eyed altruist he’d grown up to be. He wanted Shion to lose his childish ideals and face reality.

But he didn’t want to lose Shion. That would hurt too much.

Nezumi’s heart leapt in his chest. _It would hurt? What am I thinking? I don’t need him._

He didn’t need Shion, true, but if Shion died, Nezumi knew that something inside himself would break irreparably. And what would be left behind wouldn’t be the bleak, bleary-eyed numbness that filled him after he had put the old woman down. He would suffer. The pain and remorse would burn through him like hellfire, making life as usual impossible to bear.

Nezumi could live alone before because he had never known anything else. The old woman had been surly and never loving, but Shion was bright as the sun and just as generous with his light. The darkness without him would be true dark, the depths of which even a rat like Nezumi had never traversed.

Nezumi didn’t think he could go back to the existence he lived before Shion. No one to share warmth with under the blankets; no one to come home to and eat meals with; no one to discuss literature with or who would care if he lived or died. Nezumi had grown accustomed to these comforts and he didn’t want to be without them.

He had grown attached to Shion.

_ Shit. _Fear crawled up the back of Nezumi’s throat. _I’m fucked._

Of all the rules Nezumi had set for himself, this had to be the stupidest one to violate. Attachment was hell. It made you sloppy and foolish, and it set you up to be hurt time and again, until the suffering hobbled you so badly you laid down and waited for death to claim you.

Nezumi had a years-long revenge to enact; he couldn’t afford to be dragged down before then. He wouldn’t allow distractions. Shion was a weakness, and his desires an obstacle to Nezumi’s aim. If he gave Shion the note, he wouldn’t have to make any choice, because Shion would make it for him.

Shion would leave and Nezumi would be free. He would suffer, but he wouldn’t die. He couldn’t say the same if he kept Shion by his side. And yet, the longer he looked at the empty room, the deeper the ache in his chest grew, until Nezumi could taste the loneliness like poison on his tongue. He swallowed it down and felt his body tremble.

_ It’s too late, isn’t it? It’s way too late._

The door handle gave a subtle squeak as it turned. Nezumi squeezed the note in his fist and shoved it into his pocket just before Shion poked his head into the room.

“Nezumi?” Shion’s brow creased in concern. “Are you coming?”

Nezumi schooled his features into blankness. “Yeah. Hamlet came back and looked like he was about to give up the ghost, so I was just putting him on the bed to rest with the others.” Nezumi snatched his jacket from the book bench and zipped it up to his chin.

“Poor little guy… He came back from No. 6, right? Any messages?”

Nezumi wound the superfiber around his neck one, two, three times before turning to meet Shion’s eye.

“No. Nothing.”


	27. Nezumi's Little Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long one, full of Inukashi

An unseasonably warm wind rolled through the plaza. Inukashi could smell spring in the air as surely as the tang of soap and the funk of wet dogs around them. It made their nose twitch.

They hated spring, when the barren landscape of West Block struggled into newborn life. It made a mockery of the death that nipped at their heels through every season. Winter was better. When everything was dead, and smelled like ice, and the merciless cold bullied customers through the hotel doors, life was as good as it could be.

Unlike the majority of West Block, Inukashi thrived in the winter.

Shion dumped a bucket over his current dog’s head and the dog immediately began to shake. Water exploded off its long fur like freezing shrapnel. Inukashi raised an arm to shield their face from the onslaught, but Shion was too close to avoid the brunt of the attack. He sputtered and fell back from his crouch and onto his bottom. Inukashi tsked and grabbed the freshly washed dog by the scruff of its neck and wrangled it in for a towel down.

Shion was such a klutz. They’d washed so many dogs now, and Shion was still as bad at it as ever. How hard could it be? Wet the dog, smear each side of it with the soap bar, dump water on it, and wipe it down. So easy, a child could do it.

Shion’s issue was that he tried too hard. He wanted to soap every part of the dog, from the backs of its ears to tips of its paws. No matter how many times Inukashi scolded him, Shion continued to overdo it. He said he had a responsibility to the dogs and to the customers, and he wouldn’t settle for anything but a thorough wash of every dog.

Which was insane, but Shion was kind of insane in general. He didn’t even back down when Inukashi reminded him that he wasn’t going to get paid more for overtime. Say what you want about the guy’s common sense, but Shion was stubborn as a goat and he didn’t do things by halves.

_ I suppose that’s something to admire…_ _It makes for a good worker, at least._

If they were honest, Inukashi liked Shion and his weird work ethic. Inukashi was constantly underestimated and underappreciated in West Block, due to their youth, small stature, and the generally shitty attitude of West Block’s populace. But Shion was always kind and respectful towards them, and he hadn’t laughed at their dog family even once.

True, Shion’s unwavering kindness was a sign of crippling weakness and he would probably end up dead one day very soon because of it, but Inukashi decided it wouldn’t be by their hand.

Besides, the dogs had really taken to him. Most humans the dogs only tolerated—they were professionals, after all, and didn’t let any dislike they might have towards certain customers taint opportunities to make money for their master—but they legitimately seemed to like Shion, and had adopted him as an honorary member of the pack. Inukashi’s own little brother had spearheaded the effort. _That_ was weird. The scrappy youngster had never been very active or serious about anything.

But Shion had that effect on people—and dogs, apparently. He brought out the best in everyone.

Inukashi pursed their lips and dismissed the dog they’d been toweling down.

“Hurry up, Shion. What’re you still doing sitting on your ass?”

“Ah. Sorry, Inukashi.” Shion stopped blowing into his hands and struggled back into a crouch.

Inukashi narrowed their eyes. Shion’s hands were bare and bright red from the cold. “What the hell. Are you _stupid_? Where are your gloves?”

“Oh, uh… I brought them, but…” Shion grimaced and balled his fists in his sopping sleeves in a pointless attempt to warm them. A light shiver racked his body. “I lost them in the market. Or… Well, they were taken, actually.”

“..._Huh? _How’d that happen?”

Shion’s smile was slow and more than a little guilty. “It almost felt like spring this morning, so I wasn’t wearing them at first, but it got colder the longer I was outside, so I took my gloves out of my pocket, and a little kid tackled me and snatched them out of my hands.”

“Geez,” Inukashi scoffed. “How dumb can you be? That’s the oldest trick in the book!”

“I didn’t know… She was really fast. I didn’t even realize what had happened until she already disappeared into the crowd.”

“You’re _complimenting_ the little thief? You should be cursing them out right now.”

Shion shrugged his shoulders and stared down at the plaza stones. “Don’t tell Nezumi about the gloves… He’d be really mad.”

“Why would I tell Nezumi? I’m your employer, not your mama. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

Shion looked relieved, which made Inukashi’s skin prickle. _Why does Shion care so much about what that asshole thinks of him? Nezumi should have taught him better; then he wouldn’t be losing his stupid gloves in the market._

“You can’t keep washing dogs with no gloves on,” Inukashi grumbled. “Spring might be coming, but it’s still cold as fuck right now. Your fingers’ll fall off if you go on like this.”

Inukashi sighed. “Guess I’m going to have to find you gloves.”

“No, it’s okay! It was my own fault, so I can power through. It’s not so bad if I keep my hands wrapped up and blow on them in between dogs.”

Shion’s eyes flashed with determination and he shouted to one of the waiting dogs to come over. Inukashi crossed their arms and leered down at Shion’s dry, red hands and shivering form. He tried to pick up a pail, but he could hardly get his fingers to flex around the handle, forget trying to lift it full of water.

Inukashi clicked their tongue. “Don’t be a dumbass. Here.” They peeled off their own gloves and chucked them at Shion. He caught the gloves as they smacked him in the shoulder and blinked back at them.

“Inukashi…”

“Save the waterworks. Those’re too big for me anyway.”

Which was true. The gloves dwarfed Inukashi’s small hands, but they were the warmest ones they had, so they had worn them anyway.

Gloves wore out quickly, so they always picked out one or two sturdy-looking sets of gloves and socks from the shipments they received and sold the rest to the market. It would be annoying to have to find a new pair to wear, but it wasn’t like they had a choice; Shion wouldn’t be able to do his job if his hands were damaged from frostbite.

Shion’s face was tinged with guilt, but once he’d pulled on the gloves, his reservations were swept away by the warm relief. “Thank you, Inukashi,” he sighed. “I’ll give them back once I’ve bought new ones.”

“Don’t bother; you can keep ‘em. I’ve got others inside I can use.” Shion was now looking at them with something like affectionate gratitude, so Inukashi had to add, “This isn’t a freebie, though. The cost is coming out of your paycheck.”

Shion grinned and repeated his thanks, flexing his glove-clad hands in front of him like he had only just discovered he had fingers.

Inukashi snorted. _So simple_. But they felt pleased to have given Shion a gift he liked so much. Inukashi had never given another person a gift before.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” Inukashi mused, staring up at the sun. “I’ll grab new gloves and a couple of snacks for us on my way out.”

Shion perked up mid-scrub. “You’re giving me lunch, too?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

But Inukashi smiled a little as they turned away.

They threaded a path through the ruins of the hotel plaza and picked their way up the less cracked steps on the stairs to the lobby. The wooden door was insect-eaten and rotted in places, but it held together well enough to serve. Whomever built the building had given it strong bones, for though the stones outside browned and chipped, and the plaster walls inside spidered with cracks, the hotel continued to stand strong as a weathered soldier holding the front line. And that was what the place was, really: a comrade in arms. Without Inukashi’s business, the hotel would have wasted away and died along with its brethren, and it paid them back by defending Inukashi from harm as surely as their rifle and their dogs.

Inukashi hadn’t thought too deeply yet on what they would do when it crumbled to dust, but they’d figure it out once they came to that. They sort of hoped that by the time the hotel succumbed to the ravages of time and constant damage, they wouldn’t still be managing this cesspool of a business, but they knew better than to hope for a future that far out. In a place like West Block, where death waited in the wings like a carrion bird, you planned for the next few hours and no further.

Inukashi learned that lesson quite abruptly when their mother had died. It had been a day like any other, Inukashi and their siblings waiting patiently for Mum to return with a meal, and then she crested the hill all torn up, and it had turned into a nightmare within seconds.

But that was what life was like. There was no use crying about it.

Nezumi knew this. Only someone who knew how merciless life was could act like such a dick all the time. Nezumi loved to talk about how pointless attachments were. He laughed at Inukashi whenever they came to him with requests to sing their dogs off, and lectured them on their sentimentality as he snatched Inukashi’s hard-earned coin from their hand.

The guy had a serious superiority complex—Inukashi knew perfectly well that getting attached to things was dumb. They cared about their dogs because they were an extension of themself, but they didn’t get all broken up about losing them, because it was bound to happen sooner or later. The dogs had been good friends and protectors for the duration of their lives, and they deserved respect for their services. As far as Inukashi was concerned, letting them pass on in peace wasn’t gross sentimentality, but the bare minimum of common decency.

But Nezumi didn’t think like that. He emanated an aura of loneliness so strong that Inukashi could scent his approach like ice on the wind. Good looking as he was and pleasant as he occasionally pretended to be, it chilled one to be too near Nezumi.

Everyone had a sob story related to the infection and the fall of civilized society, but Inukashi got the feeling that whatever Nezumi’s was, it was particularly unpleasant. There was something missing at the heart of him—an advantage in West Block, but that didn’t make him any less unnerving to deal with. Inukashi would rather face down a dozen zombies than one smiling Nezumi.

But lately, the icy air about Nezumi had seemed to thaw, just a bit.

Inukashi had sensed the change a few months back, and when they did a little more digging, a name came up: Shion. And now that they met Shion in person, and saw how he and Nezumi interacted… They had no idea why Nezumi associated with the guy. Shion was nice and all, but he was the oddest person Inukashi had ever met, and he definitely didn’t fit Nezumi. Shion was the very definition of ‘sentimental fool’; Inukashi couldn’t believe Nezumi hadn’t mercy-killed him yet.

That Nezumi kept him close and seemed to be looking out for him, despite the obvious frustration Shion caused him, was _very _interesting indeed.

Inukashi meandered up the stairs to the second level and padded down the hallway. The rooms lining the passage were all for customers except for the last one, which was for Inukashi’s own personal use.

They slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door open—to find Nezumi sitting with his legs propped up on their table.

Inukashi paused in the doorway and glared. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Dogs invited me in.”

Inukashi clicked their tongue. Obviously, Nezumi must have picked the lock, but also obviously, none of the dogs felt the need to alert them. There were several dogs resting around the room, and one of the older girls was even resting beneath the table where Nezumi had made himself at home. The dogs were getting too used to the rat’s presence. Inukashi made a note to remedy that ASAP.

“If you’re here for Shion, he’s not done yet. Not even close.”

“I’m not here for him. Feel free to keep Shion as long as you like. In fact,” Nezumi tilted his head, “you two seem to get along pretty well. If you want to bring him on as a boarder, I wouldn’t complain.”

Inukashi aimed a kick at Nezumi’s legs. If they had connected where they had been aiming, there was a good chance the force would have shattered Nezumi’s kneecap, but Nezumi was too quick. He swept his legs off the table in the nick of time and smirked at Inukashi’s miffed huff.

“Maybe I _should _take Shion on,” they growled. “He obviously isn’t getting much out of living with you. Shion’s still as naive and helpless as he was three months ago. He got his gloves stolen this morning, for god’s sake.”

Inukashi realized after they said it that they had told Shion they wouldn’t tell Nezumi. But they couldn’t help it. Shion was as guileless and happy-go-lucky as a puppy, and Inukashi didn’t like to think he wasn’t being treated properly.

“Whether you wanna admit it or not, he’s your responsibility. You adopted the kid, so you oughta take better care of him and teach him the skills he needs to survive.”

Nezumi quirked an eyebrow. “My, you’ve really taken a shine to Shion, huh?”

_ What an asshole. How does _anyone_ fall for him?_

Sure, Nezumi was pretty with his delicate features, smooth pale skin, and shiny black hair. His thick-lashed eyes held the dangerous magnetism of thunderstorms and were the lustrous color of a polished shard of metal. But spend more than two minutes with Nezumi, and the charming exterior gave way to the absolute poison of his personality.

Surely Inukashi couldn’t be the only one who wasn’t fooled? And yet, over and over again, people fell for the innocent pretty boy act. Nezumi could commit murder in the middle of street, and people would still fall at his feet, singing his praises—even people who should have known better, like the Disposers or the tough-guy raiders!

Even Inukashi sometimes…

Inukashi gritted their teeth. It frustrated them to think of it. Nezumi was so selfish and terrible, always looking down on people and finding ways to manipulate and exhort them. Inukashi was involved in some unsavory businesses on the side, but they couldn’t touch Nezumi’s level. He was a soul-eating demon who preyed on and profited from other people’s misery.

“What do you want?” Inukashi asked.

Nezumi leaned back in the chair and smiled blithely. “I have a job for you.”

He flicked a coin onto the table. Inukashi blinked at it as it wheeled across the surface and clattered onto its side.

“That’s…gold?”

“That’s right. It’s the real deal; check if you want.”

Inukashi snatched the coin up and nibbled the corner. It was real, just as Nezumi said. Inukashi had seen very few gold coins in their hitherto short life. They turned it over in their hands a few times, luxuriating in its soft yellow gleam.

Then they chucked the coin back at Nezumi.

“No thanks.”

Nezumi caught the coin out of the air and frowned. “I haven’t explained the job yet.”

“No need. If a miser like you is throwing gold coins down, I don’t want to get involved in whatever it is you’re doing. It’s bound to be life-threatening, and you know I don’t like excessive risk.”

“Not even if I said that this—” the gold coin winked coyly as Nezumi waggled it before their eyes “—was only a down payment, and you can expect another gold coin once you’ve completed the job?”

Inukashi pulled their bottom lip between their teeth. Two gold coins would have them riding high for months, but they trusted their gut more than their greed.

“No,” they repeated, firmer this time, and crossed their arms over their chest. “Look, you’ve gotta see it from my perspective. All your jobs are dangerous, and you’ve never offered gold for those. So, seeing as you’re now offering me not one, but _two_ gold coins for this job, alarm bells are going off in my head like nobody’s business.

“I’m out. Try someone stupider.” Inukashi stepped back and jammed their thumb toward the exit. “Door’s over there. Feel free to never come back.”

“Hm. Well, alright then.”

Nezumi pocketed the coin and pushed to his feet. The dogs around the room swiveled their ears forward and watched Nezumi as he approached their master.

“I think I’ll take you up on the suggestion,” Nezumi said, pausing by the door. “From now on, let’s go our separate ways. I’ll bring my jobs elsewhere, and next time you or your dogs are suffering, don’t even think about coming to me.”

Inukashi’s heart jumped.

“H-hold on. Wait!” They leapt forward and snatched Nezumi’s arm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. One day, very soon perhaps, you might find yourself suffering and unable to die quickly, just like your mama. And when that day comes, you can call me as much as you like, but I won’t listen.”

Inukashi snorted, paused, and then snorted again. “That’s… Ridiculous. If I get bitten, I know what to do. I don’t need your help to pull the trigger.”

Nezumi shrugged a shoulder. “Sure, if you get bitten you can take care of yourself. But that’s not the only way to die—or did you forget humans have more to fear than just the undead? Disease, broken bones, unfortunate accidents… Or maybe the dead will sneak up on you one day when you’re out, swarm in on you faster than you can shoot, and leave your body broken and bleeding and utterly helpless. In that case, please do send for me; I’d like to get an ‘I told you so’ in before you turn.”

Inukashi’s mouth was so dry it felt cemented shut.

Nezumi was right. One could never be sure what lurked around the corner. You could be the most careful person in the world and death would still find a way to claim you. You might be hit by falling debris as you walked beneath a building on your way home. That cut on your leg that you thought was no big deal could get infected and kill you overnight. And, of course, the undead were their own breed of risk.

The candlelight from the hall reflected in Nezumi’s eyes, the flames dancing like wicked specters. “Well. Best of luck, Inukashi,” he said, sweet as a parting kiss.

Nezumi swept Inukashi’s hand from his arm and moved to leave, but again Inukashi caught him.

“Sit,” they growled. “I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

Nezumi’s lips curled up at the corners. “You sure?”

“Fuck you. Sit down.”

Nezumi returned to his chair. Inukashi moved to stand across the table from him. For all his smirking and manipulating a moment ago, Nezumi now looked grim, and Inukashi was too nervous to sit.

“I need information,” Nezumi said. “On the Correctional Facility.”

“...Seriously? That hellscape out in the Deadlands? _That_ Correctional Facility?”

Nezumi stayed silent and waited for their incredulity to exhaust itself. Inukashi picked at their fingernails.

“What kind of information?”

“Any kind, and as much as you can get. Doesn’t matter how important you think the detail is.”

Nezumi slid a mouse across the table. It was ghostly white and tiny, the size of a mouse pup. Except it was a robot. Inukashi suspected this by its stillness and sightless eyes, and Nezumi confirmed their suspicions by tugging off his gloves and pressing the top of the mouse’s head.

Its back split open and yellow light shot up into the air, forming into a miniature hologram rendering of the floorplan of a building—the Correctional Facility, Inukashi guessed.

“This is pretty detailed,” Inukashi said, moving their hand through the light and watching it warp. “Where’d you get these plans?”

“Does that matter? What matters is that they’re outdated. The structure is probably little changed, but the system and security measures are bound to be improved. I need you to look into what those improvements and protocols might be.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, nope. I can’t get that stuff.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Inukashi laughed. “Hm, well, let’s see.” They held up their hand and began to count off the reasons. “To start, the Correctional Facility is in the Deadlands, which, as you’re intimately aware, is crawling with zombies. I’m a sniper, Nezumi; I don’t do face-to-face. Second, no one knows what the hell they do in there, because the people they bring there _never come back_. Not even bodies leave the building. All the rumors say they burn them. There—” Inukashi jabbed their finger into the bottom level of the projection “—that’s where the incinerator is.”

Nezumi stared blankly back at them. “There’s no incinerator down there.”

“Psh. How would you know?”

But then Inukashi paused. The look on Nezumi’s face was not blank at all, now that they paid it closer attention.

“…Do you know?” Inukashi glanced at the hologram again. “Wait a sec. Where did you get this? Did you record it? Have you…?” Their eyes widened. “Have you been in the Correctional Facility before?”

“I think you misunderstand our situation. I’m paying _you_ to give _me_ information, not the other way around. Ideally, find me data on the security systems inside the building and any operations related to them. But I know that’s harder than it sounds, so just get me whatever you can on the Correctional Facility. I need it ASAP. The faster you deliver, the faster I’ll pay and we can go our separate ways again.”

Inukashi blew out their cheeks. This was no typical job. _Definitely worth gold. Worth _more _gold, if you ask me. _But they didn’t want Nezumi to return to issuing indirect death threats, and Inukashi had some ideas of avenues they could take… They wouldn’t have to go to the Facility personally; the robot mouse Nezumi paid them with last time would be the perfect remote intelligence gathering device.

“Oh, and I should mention that you can’t use that robot mouse I gave you to snoop.”

Inukashi slapped their palms down on the table. “Why not?”

“Every piece of equipment in No. 6 is chipped. If the security sensors pick up something without the proper clearance, the system will blow it up. Same goes for any non-human organism. Cockroaches, rats, flies—the lasers fry them all.”

“Well, that’s just great. How am I supposed to gather information, then? _I _don’t have any fancy chips, so it’s not like I can sneak in there myself.”

“No, of course not. There’s no way to breach the system, but a system is only as strong as its weakest link. There are plenty of areas that are managed by people. No. 6 can rig the Facility with all the tech they want, but all it takes is one well-placed bribe to bring the whole place to its knees.”

Inukashi’s stomach twisted. Nezumi had hit on the one topic they were hoping to avoid.

“Yeah, sure,” they said, clearing their throat. “That’s true. But those people work inside the building, and it’s not like I can get over there and talk to them. I mean, there are hundreds upon hundreds of corpses between here and there, and even if I made it to the Facility, I wouldn’t be able to get in. I’m not exactly a smooth talker like you, so—”

“Inukashi.”

Nezumi rested his head on his knuckle and smiled. It was such a gentle smile, comforting and conspiratorial, and Inukashi felt a little bit of their nerves slip away.

“There’s no need to be so anxious. I know you have a contact at the Correctional Facility. You’ve been using the dogs to smuggle trash and supplies out for years now. Why do you think I’m offering you the job?”

Inukashi closed their mouth and glared down at the table. They really needed to get their nervous babbling under control. It was way too obvious a tell, especially for a first-rate manipulator like Nezumi, who knew everyone’s secrets but pretended not to, just so he could have the pleasure of watching you walk into his traps.

“You’re offering me the job because I’m the best and you know it.” Inukashi crossed their arms and dared him to contradict them.

Nezumi chuckled. “You’re cute.”

Inukashi sputtered and turned red.

“So you have a contact at the Correctional Facility,” Nezumi said. “You’ve already gotten them to hand you leftover food and clothes, what’s a little information? I’m sure you could get them talking if you tried hard enough.”

Inukashi deflated. “The guy I have a deal with is low on the chain, Nezumi. He shovels trash. He doesn’t know anything about security systems.”

“Perfect. The lower you are, the less people notice you. You’d be surprised what kinds of things menial workers see and hear when they’re doing their rounds. Your job is to sniff out what he does know and report back to me.”

Inukashi tapped the table with a finger, hating Nezumi more and more by the minute, and hating themself for being so susceptible to his blackmail. Everything about this conversation was too calculated. They didn’t even have a chance.

“I’ll need more money, then. The guy… He’s kinda a scaredy-cat. He won’t budge unless I give him a little motivation.”

Nezumi tossed a bag of coins on the table, as though he had been waiting all along for Inukashi to say the magic words. The bag was full of gold. Inukashi wrinkled their nose at it. 

“That’s all I have right now,” Nezumi said, and rose from his chair. “If you need more… I’ll figure something out. Just let me know.”

Inukashi paused. There was a note in Nezumi’s voice they’d never heard before.

Nezumi came around the table and leaned down so they were eye-level with each other. And then he said something that had all the hairs on the back of Inukashi’s neck prickling.

“Work with me, Inukashi. I’m begging you. If you do this job, I promise I’ll come to you whenever you call. If you’re suffering, I’ll sing a song to carry you off quickly.”

Inukashi couldn’t keep the shock off their face. Nezumi_, _begging_? _Nezumi_, _promising to help them whenever they were in need?

_ Is he dying, or something?_ Nezumi didn’t look sick, though. He looked…serious. Dare they say, sincere.

_ It’s a trick, _their mind hissed.

But it could be real. That was the worst thing about Nezumi: sometimes he was a pit of vipers and sometimes he played straight, and he was such a damned good actor that it was difficult to tell which role he was playing on a given day.

Inukashi gauged the dogs’ reactions. They were all resting peacefully, and whether it was an act or not, it was hard to refuse Nezumi when he was making their skin crawl by staring at them so earnestly.

“I’ll take the job.”

Nezumi’s shoulders relaxed. The action was such a genuine display of relief that Inukashi couldn’t help but add, “But only if you answer something for me.”

Nezumi’s grey eyes bored into them, his body still as a statue. Inukashi took his silence as permission to go on.

“What’re you doing this for? You’ve insulted and threatened me plenty of times, but never that ruthlessly. And you’ve never thrown this much gold into a project before… What’s the reason?”

Nezumi seemed to consider the question. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Sure,” they said. “I’ll keep yours as a part of the deal. You have my word.”

Nezumi approached, and Inukashi instinctively drew back. Nezumi made an exasperated face. “It’s not something I can say out loud.”

Inukashi grit their teeth, but didn't pull away when he leaned in. Nezumi’s breath ghosted over their ear. They shivered, once, before they repressed it, hating the way their body responded to what their mind knew was dangerous.

Gentle as a lover, Nezumi whispered, “You smell like wet dog.”

Inukashi shoved him away. Nezumi barely shifted, and Inukashi wished they had kneed him in the jewels instead.

_ I can’t believe I fell for that!_ But Nezumi had been so weird in the last few minutes that they had let their guard down.

Nezumi straightened with a chuckle. “Okay, so maybe that wasn’t such a secret,” he conceded.

“It’s no secret that you’re an asshole, that’s for sure,” Inukashi spat. Then they crossed their arms and gave Nezumi an appraising look. “But now that I think about it, you don’t have to tell me your secret. I already know it.”

“Do you?” Nezumi appeared amused.

“Shion.”

Nezumi’s confidence dropped a few degrees. Inukashi couldn’t pinpoint exactly what gave it away, but they had been watching for it and they felt the atmosphere shift decidedly in their direction.

_ Gotcha, you bastard._

Nezumi’s face rearranged itself into a look of puzzlement. “Shion? He’s a little too loud to be a secret.”

“A little too eye-catching, too, with that hair. But you know that’s not what I’m getting at.”

Inukashi’s smirk rivaled the best of Nezumi’s. “Yeah... The more I think about it, the more convinced I am. This whole job has something to do with Shion, doesn’t it? Could it be…?” Inukashi’s tone dropped into a deadly whisper as they delivered the decisive stab, “Nezumi, have you grown _attached_ to him?”

A muscle in Nezumi’s jaw twitched, and Inukashi felt a thrill of power. Nezumi had so few weaknesses, and coupled with his razor-sharp tongue and good looks, Inukashi always felt like they came out on the bottom whenever they dealt with each other.

But not today.

Inukashi hummed appreciatively as they circled around Nezumi. “I’ve had my suspicions ever since I saw you two together, but I didn’t believe it at first. I mean, you? Mr. I-Don’t-Give-A-Rat’s-Ass-About-Anything? But it’s true, isn’t it? It’s written all over your face.”

Inukashi stopped in front of Nezumi and met his flinty glare with a smug chuckle. “What I don’t get is why you brought Shion here of all places. It’s like bringing a premium cut into a starving dog’s den!”

The dogs lying around the room pricked their ears and lifted their heads.

“You’re right,” Nezumi said, voice stark as a winter wind, “that would be really stupid of me. If I were attached to Shion, that is.”

Inukashi snorted. “The jig is up, Nezumi. No use pretending. Either you’re attached to Shion, or you’re using him. There’re no other motives in West Block.”

“Well said.”

“Shion says you’re _helping_ him.” Inukashi sneered. “Either he’s pathetically naïve or you’ve grown soft. I’d bet that fat sack of gold over there that it’s the latter. I’m onto you, so you better start showing me some respect. Or else I might start employing some blackmail of my own, starting with your precious Shion—”

Nezumi moved so fast Inukashi barely got out a shout before his hand closed around their throat and thrust them up against the wall.

“I’d rethink that strategy, if I were you,” Nezumi hissed, flexing his fingers around Inukashi’s windpipe.

“Let me go, or the dogs will tear you limb from limb.”

On cue, every dog climbed to their feet and began growling. Nezumi didn’t even spare them a glance. His hauteur had returned full-force, edged by a deeply sinister smile. Inukashi felt a curl of fear in the pit of their stomach.

“I don’t think so,” Nezumi said. “I have something for your _precious dogs_.”

Inukashi’s heart rabbited at the cold promise in those words.

And then the door opened and Shion popped his head into the room.

“Inukashi…?” Shion paused and stared at the scene before him: Nezumi, holding Inukashi by the throat, surrounded by a posse of snarling hounds.

“What’s going on?” he said slowly.

“Nezumi’s being an asshole, that’s what,” Inukashi growled, and then, quieter for Nezumi’s ears only, “Let go or the deal is off.”

Nezumi’s face was calm, but his eyes burned like frostbite. He released Inukashi and stepped back. Inukashi drew in a ragged breath once his attention was distracted. Never had they been so glad to have left their door unlocked and Shion close by.

“What are you doing up here?” Nezumi said to Shion. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

His voice hadn’t quite thawed from his and Inukashi’s exchange, but if Shion noticed, he was well-enough acquainted with Nezumi’s bad temper as to be unaffected.

“Inukashi was gone a long time, and I heard growling noises.” Shion frowned between them. “What are you fighting about this time?”

“None of your business.”

“Why are you so grouchy?” Shion sighed. “If you’re here to pick me up, I won’t be off for a few hours…”

“I’m not here to pick you up. You’re perfectly capable of walking home by yourself.”

“Okay…”

Shion looked to Inukashi, obviously deciding they were the more pleasant and forthcoming one in this motley gathering. 

“Nezumi was just leaving,” Inukashi said, moving to stand at Shion’s side.

Everything in Nezumi’s body language promised death if they so much as mentioned the job or their suspicions.

Inukashi almost rolled their eyes. Nezumi knew well that they weren’t an amateur; they wouldn’t go back on their word and they wouldn’t leak the job to outside parties. As for safeguarding Nezumi’s little secret…

_ Well..._

“Come on, Shion,” Inukashi chirped, smiling at Nezumi as they looped their arm through Shion’s and tugged him into the hall. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”


	28. The Pain of Discovery

The underground room was dark when Nezumi slipped in. The only light was the soft amber glow of the lantern lit for Shion’s nighttime trips to the bathroom.

Nezumi stood by the door and shook the water off of his superfiber and jacket. The rain had begun to fall late in the afternoon and picked up as the evening crept on until the dirt paths of West Block were sludgy rivers of refuse and rocks. Luckily, Nezumi had a pair of sturdy rain-proof boots, and the superfiber doubled as a head cover, so he didn’t have to suffer too much on the walk back, and he was saved from the indignity of arriving home looking like a drowned rat.

Guess it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, though. Judging by the fetal lump on the bed, Shion was already fast asleep and therefore incapable of laughing at Nezumi’s dishevelment.

The clock on the wall said it was twenty past ten. Nezumi wrinkled his nose. He hadn’t thought the performance tonight would last that long.

It _shouldn’t _have. They had had barely half the crowd they lured in on warmer, drier days. But the manager was a stickler; if he scheduled two hours of singing, reciting, and slapstick, then they were going to perform it all, whether there was one or one hundred persons in attendance.

Nezumi unzipped his jacket and prepared for bed as quietly as possible.

When he and Shion first started their cohabitation, Nezumi would come in late and move about without a second thought as to his roommate, and he had woken Shion almost every night. Shion never complained—probably because for the first few weeks he saw himself as an interloper, and therefore he had no right to tell Nezumi to change his habits. And truthfully, even if Shion had mentioned it, Nezumi wasn’t sure he would have been all that accommodating.

At least not at first.

But Shion was apparently one of those people on whom poor sleep had an obvious effect. After a few mornings, Nezumi began to notice dark shadows beneath Shion’s eyes, and he was even spacier than usual. It annoyed Nezumi. And then slowly he began to feel a little bit responsible, and then eventually very crappy.

So he tried to be quieter, and Shion slept better, and everything was better overall after that without a single conversation needed.

Now nights like these made Nezumi smile; he never felt more like his namesake than when he crept silently through the dim room as Shion slept.

Nezumi approached the bed. Shion slept on his side, nose and mouth half buried against the pillowcase, as though he would meld into it if he could. He looked exhausted, even asleep.

Shion always slept like the dead on the days he washed dogs for Inukashi. Nezumi knew it had nothing to do with how hard Inukashi worked him and everything to do with how stubborn and meticulous Shion was. Inukashi probably discouraged Shion from working as hard as he did, but Shion never listened.

_ Inukashi better move quickly on my job._

Nezumi had agonized over whether to bring Inukashi in on the problem of Safu and the Correctional Facility, but he realized he had no choice. He couldn’t do the recon on his own, so a calculated risk had to be taken.

_ No risks _had _to be taken, _he griped._ I could have just burned the note and forgotten about it_.

That’s what Nezumi should have done. The person everyone thought he was—that he swore he was—would have done just that.

But the note burned a hole in his pocket and he couldn’t make himself sit still.

Inukashi better do as he asked and keep their mouth shut. Nezumi’s entire plan was resting on their shoulders and they didn’t even know it. But he trusted that no one would do a faster, more thorough job than Inukashi. They _were_ the best in their field—not that he’d ever give Inukashi the pleasure of hearing him admit it.

He did give them the pleasure of hearing him beg, however.

Nezumi’s insides twisted at the memory. He never imagined he would beg for anything. He never imagined he would care enough about anything to find himself in such a weak and compromising position.

And yet the truth lay slumbering in his bed.

_ I’m going to die._

The feeling was consumptive and unshakeable now.

Nezumi shook his head. He had to stop thinking about his reasons, or else he might do something stupid. For now: sleep.

Shion had bundled himself tightly in the blankets, legs scrunched up beneath him. He was also situated smack in the middle of the bed. Unless Nezumi intended to sleep blanketless and balanced on the edge of the mattress, something needed to be done about the situation.

“Shion.”

His voice sounded too loud for the still room. The mice raised their heads, but soon settled again in their pile on the armchair cushion. Shion, however, didn’t stir.

Nezumi tried again, adding a light, two-fingered jab at Shion’s shoulder for extra measure.

“Mm.” Shion lifted his head off the pillow and squinted up at Nezumi. “Oh. Hey. Welcome back.”

“You’re hogging the bed. And the blankets.”

Shion uttered a grunt that might have been apologetic surprise, or complete disinterest, but he relinquished half the blanket and squirmed back towards the wall. Nezumi climbed in beside him. The bed was warm from Shion’s body heat, and despite every inclination against it, Nezumi found himself relaxing into its comfort.

Shion had apparently dropped off again, and so Nezumi allowed himself the small transgression of staring at his face in the dim light as he tried to figure out just how screwed he was.

As always, Nezumi was struck by the unabashed softness of Shion. He hid nothing of himself, not in wakefulness, and certainly not in sleep. West Block was no heaven and Nezumi no saint, and yet, Shion laid by his side night after night, peaceful and trusting as a lamb nestled in the midst of wolves.

The white hair didn’t help the image much. Though white was usually reserved for the elderly and the dead, it made Shion look younger. Too young for the suffering he’d experienced, and yet he’d never complained. He never bewailed his poor fortune, or shook his fist at fate.

Shion welcomed the unknown with arms wide open and a laugh on his lips.

But how? How could he?

Life in No. 6 must have been without even the slightest hardship. No disease, no starvation, no cold, no undead. He had never experienced anything life-threatening. So when forced to contend with the arbitrary violence of West Block, Shion should have been reduced to a quivering mess. At the very least, he should have developed the paranoid, combative neuroticism that all other citizens of West Block had learned before they knew how to walk.

But no.

Shion still continued to be Shion as the months slipped by. Just as happy, just as straightforward, just as hungry for answers as he was when he was twelve and trying his hand at suturing a criminal’s gunshot wound.

A natural in every sense of the word.

Shion was a survivor. That he was still sleeping at Nezumi’s side, white-haired and scarred and unshakeable, testified this fact ten times over. Shion was living proof that kindness was not always weakness.

Despite his misfortunes, and despite the numerous attempts the world, and even Nezumi himself, had made at hardening his heart, Shion resisted cynicism. He would not change, because he believed the pain of discovery was more valuable than the security of complacency.

And while it frustrated Nezumi to watch Shion suffer through harsh truths again and again, he couldn’t help but be staggered by his untarnished brilliance.

_ So, _Nezumi thought, his throat tight as he stared at Shion’s slightly parted lips, _I’m thoroughly screwed. Fantastic._

Nezumi turned his face into the pillow and huffed. It smelled like soap—dog washing soap. Which was normally not a pleasant smell, but it was obviously Shion’s, and so Nezumi wasn’t sure how it made him feel anymore. There was a lot of that to go around lately: feeling and not knowing.

Shion chose that moment to reveal he wasn’t sleeping after all.

“How was work?” he asked, not bothering to open his eyes. “You sang? Or recited?”

“Sang.” Nezumi pursed his lips and stared at the few inches of mattress separating him from Shion. “Tonight sucked, though, because it’s raining and people don’t come out when the weather is crappy. The crowd was maybe twelve people. Not at all at the level I deserve. I should be paid double to work slow shifts; my time and talent are worth more than a dozen people’s attention.”

Shion hummed in acknowledgement.

This was another area in which Shion differed from everyone Nezumi knew: No one just accepted his boasts like that. No one agreed with him so readily and without an ounce of sarcasm. Inukashi and Rikiga sassed and insulted him constantly, and even his manager at the playhouse had been known to roll his eyes and accuse Nezumi of being a drama queen—before immediately reverting to flattery, for fear of losing his headliner.

The only other people who swallowed down Nezumi’s arrogance so readily were his fans, and those were sycophants, drooling and lapping up his good looks and honeyed words like indiscriminate dogs.

But Shion didn’t fall into either category. He didn’t snarl at Nezumi for being a narcissist, or fall at his feet and worship him like a god. He challenged him where he disagreed, and agreed without ceremony when he believed Nezumi was in the right.

Shion believed Nezumi was a great performer who was worth more than West Block could afford, and that was that. To him it wasn’t a brag, but the truth, plain and simple and nothing worth gushing over.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Shion said, shifting to hook one arm under the pillow.

Nezumi shrugged a shoulder and stared at Shion’s bangs.

His hair was getting long. They would need to give it a trim soon, or risk Shion transforming into a sheepdog. The pale strands hung low enough to mingle with his eyelashes, like frost on frost.

Nezumi wanted to brush the hair away from Shion’s face. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.

He refused to touch Shion except to prove a point. Otherwise, it was too dangerous. If he touched Shion’s hair, then he might want to touch the scar peeking over his collarbone, and then where would it end?

With Nezumi’s end, most likely.

Shion didn’t seem entirely comfortable with the marks he’d earned from his battle with the infection, but Nezumi thought they were beautiful. More beautiful than any of the scars Nezumi had received in his fight for survival.

The white hair and scar winding its way down Shion’s body were proof of his strength. Time and again circumstances had tried to destroy him, but Shion had survived. He should wear the badges of his courage with pride, but Shion didn’t yet seem to understand how much of a gift it was to be alive and well in such a wretched place as this world.

But he was learning. Slowly. Perhaps he would come to appreciate his scars in time.

“I’ll be your audience, if you’d like?” Shion said a moment later. “I can’t pay you for your trouble, but I promise to appreciate you properly. Until tonight’s deficit is made up.”

Shion’s mouth held the sleepy hint of a smile and Nezumi’s lips twitched in amusement. He was glad Shion’s eyes were still closed and his voice teetering on the edge of sleep, or else he might have been in some danger.

“Well… I suppose,” Nezumi decided. “Since you promise to heap praises upon me, as is my due.”

He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the dull concrete ceiling as he waited for a song to come to him.

_Are you going away, going away?_

_Leaving me alone, are you going away?_

This wasn’t the song he performed tonight, but it’s the song that came to his lips when Nezumi opened his mouth.

Unless his manager told him that a certain set was needed, or the crowd demanded a particular piece, Nezumi usually let the songs take him as they wanted, spontaneous in accordance to his moods.

He wished he had thought a little more before letting this one push past his lips.

Nezumi’s heart sped and ached as he continued, and not for the first time in as many days, he was forced to rely on his acting ability to keep his expression and tone level.

_How could I live with you gone away?_

_Leaving me alone, are you going away?_

_Should I keep you, but if you grow displeased,_

_I fear you would not come back._

_Sadly, I would let you go, so please_

_Come back as soon as you leave._

Shion didn’t respond after the song had finished. Nezumi prayed that the music had lulled him back to sleep. He didn’t want Shion probing into that performance.

Nezumi swallowed and, carefully, turned his head. Shion’s eyes were still closed, and the soft smile had smoothed out.

Maybe he was safe. Maybe—

“Sounds sad, Nezumi.”

Nezumi repressed a sigh. “Guess I was channeling the depressing weather,” he said, affecting indifference. “The rain makes me melancholy.”

“Mm. Not me. I love the rain.”

A smile rose to Nezumi’s lips. “Yes. As I recall, you like to scream at it.”

Shion’s sleepy smile returned, more defined this time. Nezumi chuckled and rolled back onto his side to face him.

He would never forget that night.

Trudging through the wind and the rain—weak, bleeding, and utterly hopeless—Nezumi had been ready to give up. His shoulder ached, his sparse, soaked clothing weighed a ton, and his lungs and legs were ready to collapse from the hours of running and crawling. He wanted to lie down and let fate run its course. Ever since he lost his family, Nezumi suspected he was destined for a bitter end.

But apparently fate had other plans for him.

Just before Nezumi was ready to crumple, he spotted a boy standing at an open window. Shion looked so normal as his head poked out and his eyes turned skyward, but he was nothing like Nezumi could have imagined.

To think such a small body held such a depth of rage and longing.

Nezumi’s skin had prickled at the wild in Shion’s eyes. His heart seized at the sound of Shion’s scream melding with the roar of the storm. It was as if he and the hurricane were one: an expansive, roiling tumult of power with no apologies and no restraint.

Shion emptied his lungs into the sky and then started giggling like a madman. Nezumi had never seen something so ridiculous, or someone so delighted to be alive.

He was mesmerized.

In that moment, Nezumi forgot his exhaustion and his pain, and he realized he wanted to live. He had to survive, if only to prove to this strange screaming boy that he, too, was a storm that would not be conquered.

Shion had saved him that night, body and soul. Nezumi’s years had been a series of dark memories and danger, but Shion had shown him that light still existed in the world, and it asked nothing of you but the willingness to let it in.

“To think,” Nezumi mused, a light laugh bubbling to his lips, “we wouldn’t be here at all if you weren’t such a freak about storms.”

I _wouldn’t be here_.

Shion opened his eyes.

Nezumi felt his gaze like a bolt of lightning through his chest. His heart clamored like thunder and his stomach pitched in helpless warning.

“I’m glad I love storms,” Shion said, voice soft as the patter of rain on the ground above. “Because now every time it rains, I think of you.”

_ Don’t_.

Nezumi didn’t react. He didn’t even breathe. How could he when Shion was staring into his eyes and saying something so sappy and dangerous and Nezumi wanted to turn and run?

“I’m so grateful that I opened the window that night,” Shion murmured. “And I’m so thankful you came back for me. I don’t even want to think about what my life would have been like if we’d never met.”

_ Stop, Shion_. _Please._

But Shion continued to look at him the way he looked at thunderstorms and Nezumi couldn’t find the strength to silence his magnitude.

“Strangely though,” Shion said, and then immediately had to pause to stifle a yawn so massive that tears pricked at his eyes. “Rain also makes me very...sleepy. Guess because it’s comforting?”

Shion rubbed the tears from the corners of his eyes and then, finally, his breath evened out and he dropped back to sleep for good.

Nezumi stared at Shion’s peaceful face and trembled.

Perhaps he had been all wrong. Perhaps Shion was the wolf and he the lamb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Nezumi sings is a Korean folk song called Gashiri. It's very pretty, if anyone is interested in the tune: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sxZ8RjBZVPk


	29. The Secret Order of the Day

Karan leaned back on the bench she was sitting on and sighed. She had been sighing nonstop for three days and didn’t know what to do about it.

The sunlight filtered through the trees painted dappled patterns on the paths of the Forest Park. Above her, the birds sang short, sweet melodies, and all around her people smiled and went about their days, unburdened.

But Karan’s heart was heavy. Her body felt a bone-deep drag like the very air she breathed was made of sand. She had always prided herself on being a strong woman, adaptable and equable, even in the most trying of times. But now she had begun to think that her easygoing personality was a failing. She could not protect the ones she loved and she couldn’t stand up against the injustices of the world—she could only grin and bear them after the fact.

She felt obscenely useless. She was an adult, shouldn’t she be more capable? Shouldn’t she know how to protect the people she loved? And yet, the government of this supposed paradise kept tearing those she held most dear out of her arms, and she did nothing.

_ No, but I tried this time. I tried to help, even though I knew it was too late._

Karan sighed and tilted her head to the clear blue sky. She hoped that her note had reached Nezumi safely, but she wasn’t sure what to hope for beyond that.

Nezumi was a mystery. He had burst out of nowhere to save Shion, but he did so because they had forged a bond four years ago. She didn’t know his character at all.

It took a really selfless person to attempt to save a stranger, and it took an extremely brave person to attempt to save anyone from the Correctional Facility. Not only was the building highly secure, it was flanked by the Deadlands on all sides. Karan couldn’t be sure if Nezumi was willing to take those kinds of risks. She wouldn’t blame him if he wasn’t.

_ Shion would take the risk._

Karan fisted her hands in her lap. Shion was the bravest and most selfless person she knew. If he knew that Safu had been captured by the Security Bureau, Shion would do everything in his power to rescue her.

_ Have I made a terrible mistake?_

Shion’s last note to her said he was safe and relatively happy, and every mouse that came by the bakery had been brown so far, indicating that everything was going well. In sending the note to Nezumi, had she shattered that peace? Had she condemned her son to imprisonment or death?

_ Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know._ Karan hung her head. Her helplessness and worry lodged in the back of her throat like a lead ball bearing.

_ What happened to me? When did I become this weak?_

She used to be so fearless. In her youth, Karan had been a spitfire; she spoke loudly and freely and didn’t care about what anyone else thought. What mattered was that she had the conviction she was right and she was willing to fight for her beliefs.

But those were the days before the infection, before the Salvation Edict and its restrictions were locked into place.

Could she really blame the quarantine, though? She had made a choice then to stay within the walls of Zone No. 6, where it was safe and her young son would want for nothing. She had known there were healthy men, women, and children who were forced to live outside the quarantine walls because those in power did not want them in their new world. She could have chosen to protest and stay outside the wall.

But she had been scared. She had her child’s future to think about.

Nonetheless, Karan had chosen the cage she now found herself in, and after so long in captivity, it felt like the fight had completely gone out of her. She had allowed herself to become so meek and complacent that she did nothing when her son was stolen from her and branded a violent criminal. She sat by and watched as a young girl she had known for twelve years was spirited away in the middle of a public street.

How had she ever agreed to live in such a place as No. 6? From the very beginning the quarantine zone was built on fear and inequality. Those in charge did whatever they wanted because they felt entitled to their power, because they knew that the citizens wouldn’t dare voice dissatisfaction, for fear of being banished outside the wall.

No one talked of the dead, and once someone was taken by the Security Bureau, that person was considered as good as dead.

_ We’re just hiding from our responsibility. We’re complicit in this city’s sins, because we’ve allowed them to go on for years and years in silence._

Quarantine Zone No. 6 had saved them from infection; that was where its kindness started and that's where it ended as well. The government claimed that the city they had created together was heaven on earth, better than any civilization they had before. But it was all lies. Life had barely changed at all. No one completely starved or was homeless, but the class system was still in place. Hierarchy and threat of violence were still the secret order of the day.

“Miss?”

Karan gasped and looked up.

A small elderly woman stood before her, smiling gently. She wore a gray coat and light blue hat, and her eyes were soft and kind behind the lenses of her round spectacles. Karan felt a faint sense of recognition.

“Hello,” the old woman said. “I’m sorry to have frightened you.”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry; I was lost in thought.”

“Yes, you looked very deep in thought!” The woman laughed lightly. “I was taking my daily walk and I spotted you sitting here. Thought I’d say hello.”

“Oh. How kind.” Karan smiled back at the woman, trying to place her face. Obviously, this woman knew her, but Karan couldn’t quite grasp from where they knew each other.

Her confusion must have shown on her face, because the old woman said, “You’re the young lady that runs the bakery in Lost Town, aren’t you? I come in there sometimes for coffee and a scone.”

The pieces snapped into place. The widow who always took the table by the window.

“Yes, of course! I remember. Sorry, I’m all out of sorts this morning.” Karan shrugged and gave the woman an apologetic smile.

“May I sit with you?”

Karan didn’t want company at the moment. She thought of all the excuses she could employ: I was just about to leave; I have to get back to my bakery; I’m feeling a little under the weather, and don’t want to get you sick too.

But in the end, politeness won out, and Karan agreed to let the woman take the seat beside her on the bench.

They sat in silence for a bit, watching the people milling about the paths in Forest Park. A young couple strolling hand-in-hand toward the fountain. Two businessmen debating a piece of recent news as they sipped their takeaway cups and fast-walked back to their office.

“I’m sorry if I’m being a nosy old lady,” the woman said finally, “but you looked so sad a moment ago… Did something happen?”

“No, nothing.”

The woman studied Karan, and pushed the spectacles back up her nose from where they’d slipped down. They were large frames for such a tiny face.

“Did I look that sad?” Karan asked.

“The saddest! I thought something terrible must have happened.”

“Oh… Well, I… I’ve been dealing with a lot of things lately. I guess I’m just a bit tired.”

The old woman nodded. “If you’re not feeling well, you should visit the health center. The medicine they have here is the best in the world. If we had the medicine we do now twenty years ago, I might still have a son.”

The woman smiled as she said this, but her eyes were sad. Karan’s heart ached for her.

“I’m so sorry.”

The woman waved a hand. “It was a long time ago. I still have my daughters, and we live in such a beautiful city. I have nothing to complain about.”

Karan folded her hands in her lap and stared out at the trees shivering gently in the wind. The air was winter cold, and yet there were still flowers peppered around Forest Park that were in full bloom. The fountain ran all throughout the year, unimpeded by frozen pipes, and the streets were never allowed to be icy or leaf-strewn.

No. 6 was beautiful.

But it was unnatural.

“Sometimes I feel down, though, too,” the old woman confessed.

“You do?” Karan’s heart beat a little faster.

“Of course. Who doesn’t?” The woman patted Karan’s knee. “But then you just have to remember what a wonderful, safe place you live in. No. 6 is a utopia! When you think about how good we have it, you realize there’s nothing to be unhappy about.”

“Oh. Yes…”

“At least we don’t live in West Block.”

“What?” Karan straightened. “What do you mean?”

“Hm?” The woman glanced at her. Her large, round spectacles had slipped down again, and she shoved them back up the bridge of her nose. “Oh, well, West Block is one of the worst places in the world. You might be too young to remember, but back before we built the wall, the whole place was overrun with—”

The woman paused and cleared her throat. “Well. You know,” she finished in a whisper. “Even before the quarantine, the people in West Block were an unruly, dirty bunch of criminals. Now the place is a complete wasteland. If there are any survivors after all these years… I don’t envy them. They must live in fear, fighting for scraps with those..._things_. What kind of life could that be?”

Karan’s breath trembled. She had never heard such things about West Block. Whenever someone spoke about outside the wall—which happened rarely—they only referenced it in generalities, of how terrible it must be, how terrifying. No one ever referred directly to the undead, and no one dared talk about the living people left behind—some didn’t even know there _were_ living people outside the wall. They had been too cloistered or young when the Salvation Edict was enforced, and now there was a decade of children born inside the quarantine zone with no concept of life outside it.

And now she was hearing that the world outside the wall was even more violent than she had thought. That the people living there not only had to fear the infection, but the other living people around them. A desperate, hungry life—that’s what Shion was destined for.

But. No.

_ Mom, I'm sorry. Alive and well._

Shion’s note seemed genuine. Nezumi’s notes and mice reinforced his claim that he was safe and relatively happy. Karan had to believe that Shion and his friend wouldn’t lie about such things, and plus, she needed to believe that her son was living well.

Maybe West Block wasn’t as beautiful or organized as No. 6, but it was free, and it was honest, and Karan would take that over No. 6 any day if it meant she could see Shion again.

“I’m sure West Block isn’t as bad as you think,” she found herself saying.

The old woman blinked at her.

“And I don’t think No. 6—”

—_is a utopia_. That’s what she was about to say.

But before she spoke the words, a huge crow swooped down from above and squawked loud enough to make Karan and the old woman jump.

“Heavens!” gasped the woman, slapping a hand over her heart. “What is a wretched thing like that doing in the Forest Park?”

Karan wasn’t certain what was and wasn’t permitted in the park, but she knew that crow; she had seen it a few times before with its master.

“Karan!”

Karan turned her head and spotted Yoming trotting toward her from a path on her left. She stood to meet him.

“Yoming. How—”

“I’m so sorry I kept you waiting!” Yoming reached their bench and doubled over, panting. “Work ran late, and I didn’t have your number, and I’ve been running all over Forest Park searching for you. I wasn’t standing you up, I swear!”

Karan furrowed her brow. _What on earth is he talking about?_ Perhaps he had finally gone mad, like everyone already assumed he was.

The old woman stood. “Do you know this man, dear?”

“Yes. He’s a patron...”

Yoming straightened and flashed the old woman a rakish smile. “And her date this evening.”

Karan blinked, and for a moment she was too confused to say anything. Yoming chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh man. Come on, Karan, don’t look so disappointed. I know Renka set this up as a blind date, but I was sort of hoping you would be more pleasantly surprised to see a familiar face.”

_ Renka? Blind date?_

Yoming smiled at her, the perfect picture of hopeful sincerity. Karan could feel the old woman’s stare flitting between them. She wasn’t sure what Yoming meant by this charade, but she didn’t want to be in the woman’s company anymore.

“Well,” Karan said, crossing her arms and injecting a dose of irritation into her voice, “I don’t see how I can be happy to see you. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting on this bench?”

Yoming’s face crumpled. “I’m so sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

Karan huffed. “Fine; I’ll give you one more chance. But you can bet Renka will hear about this.”

Yoming winced, but offered a small smile to the old woman, who watched the exchange with increasing confusion.

“Thanks for keeping Karan company while she waited,” Yoming said and offered a sheepish bow to the woman. “We have a lot to talk about, so I’ll take her now. Karan?”

Yoming held out a hand. Karan took it and let him lead her away from the woman. Once they were out of sight of the bench, Yoming picked up his pace. They were walking as fast as one could without looking like they were trying to escape something.

Karan didn’t know what to make of the situation. Why the charade? And why was Yoming so hurried and serious now?

“Yoming? What’s going on?”

“We can talk in a second. Just a bit further….”

They exited the Forest Park and traveled down the sidewalk on the Lost Town side until they reached a white sedan. It was an old model, likely from around the time the quarantine zone was built. Karan hadn’t seen a car like this in a while. Hardly anyone in No. 6 owned cars; they just used the public transit or cars provided to them by the city.

Yoming opened the passenger door. “Madame,” he said with a sweep of his hand.

A gutteral _caw_ split the air and the crow swooped down and alighted on Yoming’s shoulder. The man didn’t even flinch.

“I knew that bird seemed familiar,” Karan said, and sighed. “Why do I need to get in your car?”

“It’s important. Trust me.”

Karan crossed her arms over her chest and slipped into the passenger seat. Yoming opened the back door to let the crow in, and then hopped into the driver’s seat and locked the doors.

“That was close,” Yoming said. He shifted the car into drive and pulled off the curb. “But we should be okay to talk freely here. This old girl is from before the wall; no bugs in here.”

“How do you mean?”

“I was listening to your conversation and I didn’t like the sound of it. That old lady was probably a spy.”

“A spy? What are you talking about? That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

Yoming glanced sideways at her and his expression was so fierce that Karan instinctively pressed herself closer to the car door.

What had she been thinking, getting into the car with this man? She barely knew him and he had a reputation for eccentricity. Karan glanced out the window. They were cruising down the streets of Lost Town, heading in a familiar direction.

“That old lady was trying to get you to talk about the city. That’s dangerous territory, especially when the person approaches you on the premise of ‘cheering you up.’ What they’re really trying to do is gauge your loyalty.”

Karan turned back to Yoming. His fingers were bone white against the black leather of the steering wheel and his eyes were lit like embers in the fading evening light. His poised intensity reminded her of the crow in the backseat.

“Maybe the old lady was just a helpful bystander. But you were on that bench a long time, Karan. That attracts attention. It was only a matter of time before someone would be sent to check on you.”

_ Was I there that long?_

Karan couldn’t remember. She had lost track of time throughout the day. After closing her bakery in the afternoon, she had wandered about, eaten up by her memories and regrets. She wasn’t sure when she arrived at Forest Park, or even how the sun was now setting. The hours had passed in a blur.

“You think that woman was there to…” Karan shook her head, trying to make sense of the conversation. “To make sure I’m not disloyal to the city?”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“But… No. I know her. She comes into the bakery all the time.”

“That makes her more suspicious. Like she’s keeping you under surveillance. Have you broken rules before?”

Karan opened her mouth to deny the question, but realized that although she had never broken a rule, Shion had. He had let a stranger and a VC into their house in Chronos, and he was now branded a criminal himself. Karan was guilty by association, and no doubt the Security Bureau kept her under close observation.

_ Surveillance…_

The old woman was constantly at her bakery. She had become a frequent customer a week or so after Shion’s arrest. And she showed up again today when Karan was feeling helpless and hateful toward the world. Was that a coincidence? She mentioned losing a son, and brought up the city and West Block, as though she were trying to get Karan to talk about these things.

Karan pressed a hand to her mouth. “The woman’s glasses… I had never seen her wear glasses before, and they were very large and kept slipping down her nose, as though they weren’t made for her face. Do you think they could have been some kind of recording or broadcasting device?”

Yoming’s mouth formed into a mirthless smile. “It’s likely.”

Karan couldn’t believe it, but the more she thought back to the encounter, the less sure she was about the woman’s intentions. The whole interaction had felt off to her from the start.

_ But maybe Yoming’s conspiracy theories are just rubbing off on me._

Regardless, Yoming had saved her just in the nick of time. She was just about to voice dissatisfaction with the city, and whether the old woman was a spy or not, that was dangerous and could have been overheard and reported by anyone in Forest Park.

“I’m not sure I understand everything that’s going on, but thank you,” Karan murmured. “For helping me.”

“Oh, no problem. And, by the way, that was some quick acting on your part. I was convinced for a minute there that we really _were_ supposed to go out today, you sounded so mad. You’re a natural; should have been an actress.”

Karan laughed. “All moms are adept at scolding. It’s part of our repertoire.”

“Is that so?” Yoming chuckled. “Yeah, come to think of it, Mari had a good scolding voice, too.”

“Mari?”

“My wife—late wife.”

Karan didn’t know what to say to this. She wasn’t aware Yoming was ever married. Renka had never mentioned it.

“She was taken by the city. She and my infant son.”

“I’m… Yoming, I’m so sorry. But… Why? What happened?”

Yoming glanced at her, then turned his gaze back to the road and shrugged a shoulder. “We were foolish. I was all up in arms about the weapons laws, and Mari was angry about the people we left behind. She didn’t think it was fair to bar living people from the quarantine zone. Guess she talked about it to the wrong people; one morning she went out with our son for a walk, and neither one came back. Never heard a thing about them again.”

“That’s terrible. No one ever came to give an explanation even?”

Yoming laughed. “No. No one came to explain. They only came to warn me that if I didn’t shut up about our right to bear arms, then I would meet the same fate as the rest of my family.”

“That’s awful.” Karan wrapped her arms around herself.

She felt sick. They just took Yoming’s family without explanation, and threatened him baldly. The Bureau didn’t even keep up the facade of legality. But then, what was “legal” in No. 6? The government made up the rules as suited them.

She had suffered these last few months with Shion being taken, but Yoming had been suffering for years in silence. She felt awful now for the way Yoming was treated. He was a good man who had been hurt by the city, just as she had been, and he had to spend years ruminating in his loneliness and helplessness. Yoming wasn’t crazy; he just saw the truth that no one else wanted to acknowledge.

He and Karan now knew the same truth.

“No. 6 is corrupt,” Karan said. A chill lanced down her spine at hearing the words aloud. But she felt a sort of relief, too. Finally, someone said it.

“It is,” Yoming agreed. “But don’t go saying that to anyone but me.”

Yoming pulled to the side of the road and put the car in park. He took Karan’s hand and held it between both of his. She was so startled, she didn’t say or do anything but stare at Yoming’s face.

Though his mustache and hair were shot through with gray, he suddenly looked young to her. He wore the same raw expression that Safu had when she confessed her longing for Shion.

“Seriously, Karan, I know it’s hard, but you can’t let yourself get caught grieving. You have to stay strong—or at least _look_ strong—in front of other people. Find something or someone to hold onto until the moment arrives when we can strike back. After everything they’ve taken from us, don’t let them take the fight out of you, too.”

Karan pressed her lips together. After Shion had been taken, she thought she no longer had anyone to be strong for. But now she realized how ridiculous that way of thinking was. She had to be strong for herself. She had to survive the injustices of the present in order to see a new day arrive, in order to be there when she and Shion were reunited.

Karan gave Yoming’s hand a squeeze. “I understand. Thank you. You’ve helped me out in so many ways today.”

She withdrew her hand from Yoming’s grip and glanced out the window. The darkened face of her bakery stared back at her.

He had driven her home. Of course he had. How could she have ever doubted his good intentions?

“You be safe now, Karan.”

“You too, Yoming.”

Karan climbed out of the car, but paused with the door ajar. She turned around and peered into the interior. “Would you like to come in for some coffee? It’s been a while since I’ve shared a drink with a friend.”

A smile curled in the corner of Yoming’s mouth. “Sure. I’d like that.”


	30. Quiet and Riot

Light flurries had begun to drift down from the cloud-packed sky. Shion paused in the middle of the street and tilted his head back so that a few could kiss his face. No matter how many times he experienced snow, it still felt magical to watch it drift softly down from the heavens. But he only allowed himself to enjoy the cold sensation of the flakes melting on his cheeks for a moment before he hurried along. Shion knew from previous experience that standing too long in one place made you an irresistible target for harassment and theft, and he had no intention of being robbed twice in one week.

It was early evening, though Shion only knew this because Inukashi always let him off at three in the afternoon; the sky had been too grey and overcast for several days to tell the time properly otherwise. Despite the relatively early hour, however, the pubs were busy belching smoke and the low burble of patrons out into the streets. As Shion passed the entrance to a bar, a rangy man leaning against the wall took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke directly into Shion’s face.

Smoking was only allowed in specific areas in No. 6, so Shion had only smelled the stench of cigarettes once before, when he first moved to Lost Town and had gotten turned around on his way home. He hadn’t liked the smell then, but the smell of West Block cigarettes was so much worse: a combination of burnt plastic and fungus.

Shion stifled a cough and took a step back to escape the fumes.

The man’s face split into a jagged, yellowed smile. “Dernt like smoke, sweetheart?” he slurred. “Thas too bad, ‘cause yer a smokin’ hot piece of ass. Lemme buy you a drink, eh?” The man pushed off the wall and took a step closer.

Shion’s heart leapt into his throat. In his hurry to sidestep the man, his foot slid in the slushy mud, and his arms pinwheeled for a second before he regained his balance. The man laughed, a dirty, scratchy sound no doubt cultivated through many years of dedicated smoking and catcalling.

Shion pulled his purple beanie down lower over his head and scurried away. _Keep your head low and just do what you came here to do._

He chanted these words as he weaved through the crowded streets of West Block. A sultry voice purred at him from the shadows, but Shion made sure he stayed well away from the alleys; that lesson only took one trial to stick. A haggard child brushed by his side and murmured hungrily, but Shion kept his eyes forward and pretended not to hear. He couldn’t look, because then he knew he’d feel terrible, and that pity would lead to indecision, and indecision would lead to him being knocked to his knees in the snow while a horde of snickering children ran away with his valuables.

Shion’s pocket felt hot with the three copper coins he’d received as wages weighing it down, and he was anxious to be rid of the responsibility of holding them.

The goal of this trip was to buy Inukashi new gloves in thanks for the pair they had gifted him—ones that fit Inukashi properly and were of good quality. Shion wasn’t sure what his meager wages could afford, but he was determined to haggle his throat raw for a good deal if he had to. The only issue was that he didn’t know which of the clothing vendors in the south side of town was the most reputable.

Shion had no one with him today, not even Inukashi’s brother, who usually accompanied him to and from the hotel. The dog had been needed at work, and Shion had insisted he would be able to navigate the streets of West Block alone and unscathed. Inukashi seemed in doubt, but business sense trumped sentimentality, so they waved Shion goodbye with a grudging, “Don’t die, or Nezumi will kill me.”

_ I wonder how Nezumi would feel if he knew I was walking around West Block alone?_

Of course, Nezumi would _say_ he didn’t care, that it was about time he grew up, that the least he should be able to manage was walking home without hand holding. But Shion knew Nezumi _felt _more than what he pretended. He worried, and that concern transmuted itself into irritation whenever a situation came up that required Shion to be self-sufficient.

Which Shion acknowledged was not the most healthy way Nezumi had of communicating his emotions. But also, he couldn’t help but be a little happy whenever he had Nezumi’s undivided attention, whether positive or not. As pathetic as he knew that was.

Nezumi always seemed to keep a critical eye trained on him, but lately, Shion felt more watched than ever. Since Nezumi came back from his trip into the Deadlands, he had been more than usually tense around Shion, as if he expected some sort of action from him. Something must have changed when he was away for those two days, but Shion hadn’t a clue what that was. He had some hopes….

Shion’s face heated and he forcibly derailed that train of thought. Those kinds of hopes led down a dark, uncertain tunnel from which Shion could see no exit. Nezumi never told him his true thoughts, and Shion could interpret his comments and gestures any way he wanted, but until Nezumi actually shared his feelings—and that seemed an impossibility—all Shion had was hopeful supposition. And such self-delusion could be crushing if the truth did come out and it wasn’t what he had been hoping for.

Shion had already dealt with disillusionment regarding twelve-year-old Nezumi, and he wasn’t keen on experiencing another round.

_ Gloves for Inukashi,_ he reminded himself. The shopping district was just around the corner. He’d be in and out and home far before Nezumi returned from his show at the playhouse.

A large man stumbled out of the bar on the corner and directly into Shion’s path.

The building from which he came was a sordid two-storey affair. Brick held together with thick swathes of mossy caulk and multiple boarded windows on the top, and a peeling green-grey exterior on the bottom. The melted snowflakes streaking the moldering paint made the whole building look greasy. Through the cracked lattice windows, Shion could discern that The Vault—as the bar was named—only housed two types of patrons: those who scowled and spat and looked ready to pick a fight, and those who tottered on the cusp of unconsciousness.

The person before him looked to be the latter type. Shion held his breath to keep from coughing on the acrid stench of whiskey and grilled meat wafting off the man and tried to shuffle quietly around him. He did not want a repeat of the smoking man.

“Shion?”

Shion froze and hazarded a look at the man’s face. “Mr. Rikiga?”

Rikiga straightened from his nauseated stoop and approximated a smile. “I thought it was you; I recognized the hat. How’ve you been? Things okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I just got off my job.”

“Job!” Rikiga narrowed his bloodshot eyes and took a step forward. Shion flinched when the man’s massive hands clapped down on his shoulders. “Eve’s making you work a job?”

“No.” Shion waved a hand, trying and failing to dispel the leer directed indirectly at Nezumi. “No one’s making me; I wanted to do it. I don’t want to be a freeloader.”

“Freaking Eve…” Rikiga blew out a breath, and Shion was unable to keep from wrinkling his nose as a concentrated cloud of alcoholic vapor hit him in the face. He turned aside and coughed.

Rikiga started. “Oh, sorry!”

“No, it’s—”

“No, no, no. Sorry.” Rikiga’s flushed face crumpled into a look of embarrassment. He let go of Shion’s shoulders and took a step back. “I’ve had a bit to drink. Didn’t mean to get so close to you. But, Shion… I _do _want to be closer to you.” Rikiga stared down at the ground as he spoke.

Shion stared at the top of Rikiga’s head. It was strange to hear such words from a virtual stranger, and from someone Shion wasn’t sure he wanted to be too close with, but all the same, he felt touched that Rikiga cared so much about him.

“For Karan,” Rikiga clarified. “I want to make sure you’re happy and living well, for her. You look so much like her, and I… I failed Karan so many times. I just want to do good by you. That’s all.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rikiga.” Rigika lifted his head and Shion gave him a smile. “You know, everyone always talks about how cruel West Block is, and how it’s every man for himself, but practically all the people I’ve met here have been kind to me. You, Inukashi, Nezumi… I feel sort of spoiled.” Shion laughed.

Rikiga’s forehead wrinkled. “Eve? Kind?”

“Well, yeah. Most days, at least.”

“Shion, come live with me.”

Shion’s eyes widened at the sudden request. “What?”

“It’s obvious you have Stockholm Syndrome. Eve’s been abusing and brainwashing you. There’s no other explanation.”

“He hasn’t, though…”

“He must be, otherwise you would never accuse him of being _kind_. Eve doesn’t know what kindness is. And, _Inukashi_? The sniper dog kid? How do you even _know _them?” Rikiga paused his rant, red-faced and looking nauseated. Shion took a step back, afraid the combination of righteous indignation and alcohol might actually cause the man to vomit.

“No, this is definitely bad,” Rikiga continued. His voice was low, and his glassy eyes shone when they fixed their gaze back on Shion. “I should have rescued you the minute you showed up at my house, I see that now. Don’t worry,” he said, grasping Shion’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll speak to Eve and get your stuff; that way you can make a clean break.”

“Wait, no!” Shion waved his hands erratically and took another step back, far away from Rikiga’s proprietary hands. “The underground room is my home. I’m not leaving. I like living with Nezumi; I’m _happy _there.”

“Happy?” Rikiga scoffed. “Shion, that Nezumi is a good actor, but you can’t let him fool you. He only cares about himself; if he’s being ‘kind,’ that just means he wants something from you.”

Irritation buzzed beneath Shion’s skin like a swarm of hornets. He was tired of everyone telling him he was blind and naive to trust his feelings. He knew what he was doing, he knew what his reality was, and he didn’t need anyone’s permission to do what he felt was right.

“Thank you for your concern,” Shion said. The ice in his voice was jagged, and it satisfied him to see Rikiga flinch. “I have to run an errand. Have a good night.”

Shion stepped around Rikiga’s stuttering girth. A few hurried steps, and he found himself in the crowded shopping district.

The citizens of West Block were a contrasting combination of quiet and riot. They scurried up and down the street like runnels of ants, their eyes ever vigilant, their faces ever scowling. Curses and coos ricocheted through the air like indiscriminate bullets, but every sound was careful to keep below a certain threshold. Thieving children celebrated success with muted high fives while furious shopkeepers strangled the screams in their throats and promised revenge under their breath. Even meat didn’t dare sizzle too noisily.

All to keep the dead from encroaching too often on the living.

But it was impossible to maintain a community without making some degree of noise. Though West Block tried to keep living down to a fraction of the bustle it afforded, the town still attracted attention from their restless neighbors. Shion could see the creatures whenever he glanced down the dark tunnels of alleyways: their pale, sallow faces pressed into the rusted links of the fence line like the soft, white underbellies of fish oozing through the gaps in a too-tight net.

Every time he caught a glimpse, Shion hurried a little faster.

He was in the process of selecting which clothing tent to start at when someone grabbed him by the arm. Shion stifled his squeak of fear and dropped his free hand to his gun holster.

“Whoa!” Rikiga released him and threw up his hands in surrender. “I came to apologize! There’s no need for that.”

Shion’s heart pounded so hard he completely forgot his anger at the man; he was just grateful that the thing that had grabbed his arm was alive and a friend. Shion moved his hand away from the gun and Rikiga sagged in relief.

“I’m sorry, Shion,” Rikiga sighed. “I acted rotten to you again. It’s my own fault. I’m drunk; the girls always tell me I turn into a complete scoundrel when I drink.”

Rikiga scrubbed a hand over his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. The evening was growing colder and windier by the minute, but it looked like the older man was sweating at his temples and around his mustache—it could have been melted flurries, though, as the snow was also picking up speed.

Regardless, Rikiga looked sorry in more ways than one, and Shion didn’t have the constitution for grudge-holding. He sighed. “It’s okay. I forgive you. Just… Don’t say stuff like that again. I can take care of myself.”

“I can see that. You’ve got a gun now.” Rikiga smiled nervously, but seemed to think better of the subject and said, “You buying something?”

“I’m looking for gloves.”

“Gloves, huh? That’s great. You _are _looking a little underdressed for the weather.”

Shion wasn’t sure how he looked underdressed in his coat, hat, and Inukashi’s sturdy gloves, but Rikiga was inebriated, so he didn’t argue with the man.

“I actually know a great place to buy winter clothes,” Rikiga continued. “Let me show you.” He began to walk away, eyes locked onto Shion and hand beckoning him to follow.

It didn’t seem that Rikiga wanted to let him go today; but Shion realized he didn’t mind having company for this trip. Shopkeepers and ordinary citizens alike leered at him as he passed through their ranks, and when he finally reached the stall Rikiga wanted to show him, Shion felt better to have a jaded veteran by his side.

A plump, middle-aged woman with a face of thick make-up manned the stall, and she positively beamed when she saw Rikiga.

“Well, _hel_lo, Rikiga. I was wonderin’ when you’d be back. We’ve just got the most bea_uti_ful dresses in; your lady friends would look so glamorous in any one of them.”

“Thank you. I’ll take a look another time. Right now, I’m looking for a pair of warm gloves for this young man.” Rikiga gestured to Shion beside him.

The woman pursed her lips as she raked him over with her eyes. “Gloves, hm?” she said, all her good humor gone the instant she realized she wasn’t going to make a killing tonight selling gowns to a pimp. “Over there’s the gloves.” She flopped her hand toward the far side of the table. “Call me when you find something you like.”

Shion drifted over to the section where the gloves were piled up. The section was neatly organized by color and style. It was impressive standards for an arbitrary place like West Block, and Shion appreciated how easy it made it for him to pick out a nice pair of gloves that looked to be in his price range.

Rikiga frowned at his choice. “Those gloves are kind of small for you, Shion.”

“Oh, they’re not for me,” Shion laughed. “They’re for Inukashi. They gave me a pair as a gift, so I wanted to repay the favor.”

Rikiga’s lips curled back in a sneer. “Well, I’m not buying something for Inukashi.” He crossed his arms and glared at the small gloves like they were a toxic substance.

“You don’t have to,” Shion said, frowning. “I’m buying them.”

He called over the shopkeeper and offered two coppers in exchange. The lady tried to wring three out of him, but Shion stood his ground, even though his heart was going a mile a minute and his skin felt hot and itchy under the woman’s predatory gaze. He only had three coins to begin with, and he was loath to go home with nothing.

“Take the two,” Rikiga interjected. “It’s a pair of gloves, for crying out loud. Give the kid them for two coppers, and I’ll buy something else from you.”

“Will you?” The woman’s eyes flicked to Rikiga, and a smile tugged at the corners of her pink-smeared mouth. “Alright then.” She leaned back and stuck a hand out for the money.

Shion handed the coins over before gently folding the gloves and tucking them in his coat pocket for safekeeping. He checked twice to make sure they were snug and could not be dropped or easily pickpocketed. Only once he was sure of their safety did he sigh and relax.

Shopping had always been a stressful occasion for Shion, and that went double when the object was gift shopping. But he did good today. He was happy.

“So, what would you like, Shion?” said Rikiga. He grinned and swept his hand over the piles of clothing. “Take your pick. I’ll buy you anything you want.”

Shion blinked back at him. “I don’t need anything, though.”

“That’s alright. You don’t have to need it, but I want to buy you a gift. As an apology of sorts.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“Come on, don’t be shy,” Rikiga said. “I told the lady I’d buy something else, didn’t I?”

“You could buy one’a your girls a dress,” the shopkeeper suggested, voice bright with fruitless hope.

“Pick something,” Rikiga pressed. “You want a new hat? A coat? Anything.”

Shion suppressed a sigh. What was with Rikiga today? He was being so pushy.

But when Shion stopped to think about it, and noticed how excited Rikiga seemed as he pawed through the wares and held a few up for Shion’s opinion, he realized that maybe Rikiga wasn’t trying to be pushy. Maybe he was just a sad, drunk man desperate to dote upon someone.

Certainly, the older man’s attachment to Shion was partially because Shion was the son of a woman he loved, but the situation now felt like more than that. Rikiga was trying to make up for his wrongs—those committed just a moment ago and ones from years past. He wanted to be useful. He was a lonely old man with nothing meaningful in his life and perhaps more dirty money than he knew what to do with.

“Alright,” Shion said. “If you really want to buy me something, I’ll look around.” _If it’ll make you happy._

Rikiga looked ecstatic.

Shion poked around the coat and scarf section. He hoped to settle on something quick so he could get home, but nothing caught his interest.

_ Maybe I should get something for Nezumi instead._

But he dismissed the idea as soon as it reared its head. Rikiga would be pissed if he found out he indirectly purchased a gift for Nezumi, and besides, Shion didn’t know what Nezumi would like best. He didn’t want to offer a gift that had a chance of being rejected.

“How about one of these?” Rikiga asked, and dumped a pile of coats in front of Shion.

The stack was heavy, and the column capsized and cascaded off the table the moment Rikiga let it go. Coats poured over the stall counter and onto the floor like a fast flowing, multicolored river.

The shopkeeper squawked in irritation. Rikiga apologized in a rankled, embarrassed mumble and stooped to collect the fallen articles. Shion joined him, heaping the heavy fabric back onto the counter.

Shion paused with a light grey coat in his hands. The coat was familiar: a woman’s cut, petite, of a style he’d seen often in No. 6. Looking at it brought to memory images of pale pink scarves and incisive looks and winter evenings spent on the couch sipping hot chocolate with mini marshmallows.

_ Safu. _She owned this very same coat; it had been a gift from her grandmother.

Regret kicked in Shion’s chest. He hadn’t thought about Safu in weeks; how could he have forgotten his best friend for so long? Especially after the way they’d parted…

Shion remembered the moment in painful detail: Safu’s voice trembling, just a little, as she asked him to sleep with her; her airy laugh when he couldn’t give her the answer she hoped for, playing it off like it was a joke, like it didn’t matter, but he noticed her take a tiny step back from him, saw the light in her eyes retreat to a dark, pained place where he could not follow.

Safu couldn’t look at him after that, though she pretended to, picking a spot on his forehead that gave the impression of eye contact. Her smile was hollow as she said her goodbyes, her fingers darting restlessly in and out of the empty button hole in the middle of her coat, its fastener lost long ago on a morning bike ride to school.

Shion brushed the front of the grey coat, melancholy eating a hollow in his chest—and his heart seized.

His fingers hopped over two round cloth-covered buttons and then met a swath of empty space. The third button was missing.

_ Coincidence_, his mind gasped. Buttons were fragile; they snagged on things and pulled loose all the time. Maybe losing buttons was a defect of this specific brand of coat.

_ It’s not hers._

Safu was safe in No. 5, a continent away from No. 6 and its horrors. Shion had heard her say she was leaving the next morning. He had been hurt that she waited so long to tell him.

He had been grateful that she was far away from Quarantine Zone No. 6 when he was arrested.

_ Safu has a coat like this, but it’s not _her _coat. It can’t be._

Shion’s hands trembled as he snatched at the thick cuff of the right sleeve, flipping it over. The dark brown tea stain was there, as he feared it would be. Safu had been so furious when she realized she had trailed her coat sleeve in her spilled Chai. She had diluted the spot in water in the cafe bathroom and ran the coat through the washing machine several times at home, but the discoloration refused to fade from the fabric. Her grandmother wouldn’t bring it to the cleaners, saying the stain wasn’t visible anyway unless you looked for it.

_ No. No, no, nonono! **Why is this here?**_

“Why do you have this?” Shion demanded. He gripped the coat by the shoulder and shook it at the shopkeeper.

Tiny tufts of pink lint stuck to the inside of the collar. If there had been any doubt that this was Safu’s coat, that detail eliminated it; Safu never wore the coat without coupling it with her baby pink scarf.

The shopkeeper narrowed her eyes at him, the last traces of her pleasant, professional demeanor retreating into suspicion. “What’dya mean? It’s a coat; I sell clothes.”

Rikiga licked his lips, his mustache twitching in uncertainty. He took a step closer to Shion. “What’s this about, Shion? Why are you so upset?”

Shion’s blood roared in his ears. “This is my friend’s coat, _from No. 6. _You shouldn’t have it.” _It shouldn’t be anywhere near here!_

“Where did you get it?!” Shion took a step forward, until his hip pressed against the counter. If it weren’t for the booth between them, he would have already grabbed the woman and shaken the answer from her pursed lips. “Tell me!”

The shopkeeper shrunk back from him, her eyes darting around nervously. “Quiet, will you?” she hissed. “You can’t be _yellin’_ in a place like this, boy.”

“Shion.” Rikiga laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “She’s right; you have to be quieter. You’re making people nervous.”

Shion twisted away from Rikiga’s steadying hand.

The argument had attracted a few stares from passerby, and some had slowed to hover behind them. On the precipice of intervening? Just there to watch? Shion lowered his voice, but only to ensure that no one would pull him away from this place before he got his answers.

“I wouldn’t be yelling if you’d just tell me where you got this coat.”

“I can’t tell you that—and I don’t have to,” growled the shopkeeper. “It’s my business where I get my clothes, and you are not welcome here anymore. Get out. Get him out of here, Rikiga, or I’ll call the Disposers and you won’t be welcome in this district either.”

Rikiga sobered in an instant. “Shion, we should go. I can find her provider for you later. I promise I will.”

Shion clenched his teeth. Safu’s coat was heavy in his hands, heavy as a body.

_ No. This woman is going to tell me what I want to know, _now_._

Shion dropped the coat onto the booth’s counter and reached to unclip his gun holster. Rikiga gasped sharply and took a full step back, while the shopkeeper froze in place, eyes wide as saucers.

“Hold on now,” she stuttered, flinching as Shion’s hand came to rest on the grip of his gun. He didn’t plan to use it, but she didn’t have to know that. “I’ll tell you. I’ll _tell you_, okay? Just...don’t fire that thing here.” Her eyes darted to the fence line.

Shion ground the words out, hard and slow, “Where did you get that coat?”

“The doglender. They give me the leftovers whenever they get a shipment from the Correctional Facility. I don’t know who they get their shipments from, I don’t know anything more than that. If you wanna know more, you gotta ask the doglender. Alright?”

The woman kept babbling. Rikiga was saying something and reaching out a tentative hand. People were watching, their eyes narrowed at Shion’s holster.

Shion heard and saw none of it. His vision began to spot.

_ Correctional Facility_. The word rattled in his head like the jagged report of Inukashi’s sniper rifle.

Shion turned and ran.


	31. The First Rule of West Block

Nezumi’s steps crunched underfoot as he trudged the path home in total darkness.

A fine coating of powder blanketed the ground. Apparently, it had snowed, but Nezumi hadn’t seen it fall. He had been holed up in the playhouse all evening, and had only just managed to escape.

The air was bitingly cold, and the temperature was only going to continue to drop throughout the night and into the coming days. The kind of weather the season’s weakest couldn’t survive. Nezumi had no doubt that the Disposers would have their hands full tomorrow morning. They’d have to move fast, taking multiple trips out into Deadlands to unload the corpses before they thawed enough for the undead to scent the meal.

Nezumi refolded the superfiber around his neck to block the chill from seeping too deeply into his bones. Hamlet poked his head out from the cloth and wriggled around to reorient himself comfortably in the folds.

The cold would not claim him this night, or any night soon. Nezumi promised himself nearly twelve years ago that he wouldn’t die until he saw No. 6 fall first. Until then, he would bide his time, sharpen his claws, and build his defenses up for the moment of attack.

Nezumi could feel the wall of Quarantine Zone No. 6 looming behind him. Its surface glowed faint and milky white in the dark, like the blind eyes of the dead. One day, he would make sure the people who lived sequestered behind that wall tasted fear—real fear, not just the impression of it they received from watching recordings of bygone times. Real fear, and real death. He couldn’t wait to rip the wool from their eyes.

Nezumi slipped his hands into his pocket and picked up the pace toward home. The memo from Karan still rested inside, the paper now crumpled to match the wrinkles in his pants. He still hadn’t shown it to Shion. He didn’t think he would ever show it to him.

So why did he still have it?

He should throw it away, yank it from his pocket and let the wind take it far from him. Forget that he ever received it, and hope Karan wouldn’t risk writing another that Shion might intercept. And yet, he couldn’t make himself discard the memo. Instead he had paid an outsider a large sum to look into the Correctional Facility for him.

Nezumi knew that No. 6 and everything related to it deserved to be spat on and destroyed, but why couldn’t he feel the same way about this note?

_ What the hell is wrong with me?_

Hamlet chittered softly and nosed his cheek.

Nezumi stopped dead on the path, listening. The area lay still around him, but his well-trained ear detected the slight crunch as a body shifted in the snow.

“Who’s there?” he called into the night. Seconds ticked by without an answer, and then:

“Took you long enough.” Inukashi stepped out from within a rotted old barn, a posse of black and mottled brown mutts flanking them on either side. The dogs’ dark eyes glittered red in the faint moonlight. “You’re not usually so slow, Nezumi. You better not be losing your touch.”

Inukashi’s tanned skin and dark features made them especially adept at blending into the shadows, but even with this advantage, Nezumi could usually sense an ambush a mile away. He silently cursed himself for his absentmindedness.

“What do you want?” Nezumi said. “I can’t imagine you’ve already collected the information I asked for.”

“I haven’t. I came to warn you about Shion.”

Nezumi’s stomach sank, but he kept his face expectant and mildly perplexed as he asked, “What about Shion?”

“He came by to see me a few hours ago, screaming his head off about some coat he found in the shopping district. Said it belonged to his friend and he needed to know where I got it.” Inukashi’s expression pinched.

They suspected Nezumi knew what they were getting at, and Nezumi _did_ know what they were getting at. His stomach sunk deeper, the current tugging his heart down with it.

“Coat, huh?” Nezumi said, voice calm despite the buzz building at the base of his skull. “A girl’s coat?”

“I don’t know.” Inukashi paused and screwed their face to the side in thought. “Yeah, I think so. He was saying ‘her’ and ‘she,’ so, yeah. Why?”

_ Great. Shion knows. I should have guessed something like this would happen._

Nezumi kept Karan’s note on him at all times, as though by keeping it close to his person, he could erase the event from the universe until he was ready to do something about it. But the universe didn’t follow anyone’s rules but its own, and apparently it was not on Nezumi’s side.

“Nezumi, this is serious,” Inukashi said. “Shion was asking about the Correctional Facility, and I had to tell him the truth about the shipments; he looked ready to shoot the place up if I didn’t. He knows his friend’s probably in the Correctional Facility, and I told him that means she’s already done for, but he had that _look_.” Inukashi grit their teeth. “He’s gonna try to go after her all by himself. You gotta stop him.”

“Why? I’m not Shion’s keeper.” Nezumi stared over Inukashi’s head at the luminous face of the quarantine wall. Against the darkened backdrop of West Block’s horizon, it emerged like a pulsing, pus-filled blister on necrotic skin. “If he wants to do something as stupid as crossing the Deadlands and breaking into the Correctional Facility, then that’s his prerogative.”

“He’ll die!”

“It’s not my problem—”

“_The fuck it’s not!_” Inukashi took a step forward and jabbed a finger at him. “_You_ brought Shion here. _You _gave him that gun. You’re responsible for making sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble. You can’t adopt a stray and abandon it the minute it stops being convenient for you. Quit the lone wolf act and own whatever it is you and Shion have going on between you!”

Nezumi lowered his gaze to meet Inukashi’s small, dark eyes. “You seem to be confused. Shion is nothing special to me.”

“Bullshit,” Inukashi growled. “You can’t lie to me anymore; I understand everything now. I know why you had me look into the Correctional Facility—it was about this, wasn’t it? It was about Shion’s friend, and you didn’t want Shion to know about it. You had to go sneaking around behind his back because you knew if he knew he’d go after her with nothing but his stupid determination and a gun he barely knows how to shoot.”

Nezumi clenched his fists. He did know that, better than Inukashi ever could. If Shion learned about Safu’s capture he would want to go in guns blazing, without a plan, with barely any fear. That’s who Shion was; he would rather risk his life than not try.

But as for how to stop him, Nezumi didn’t know how to do that. He had spent so many years pushing potential hurts away that he wasn’t sure he remembered how to properly hold on to something outside himself.

“For fuck’s sake, Nezumi,” Inukashi sighed. “If Shion means that much to you, you should do everything you can to protect him. Forget pride or whatever it is you think you’re holding on to. What’s the point of saving face if Shion just ends up dead? Stop being a coward and own up to your feelings.”

“Shut up!” Nezumi snarled. He sprang forward, but Inukashi seemed to be expecting this, and jumped back to avoid his grasping hands. Nezumi grit his teeth, his breath shuddering from his lungs in angry, impotent gasps.

“You’re done for,” Inukashi said. “You broke the first rule of West Block: You got attached to something—to someone so weak you _literally_ need to protect them. That means you lose. Big time.”

Inukashi shook their head from behind the ranks of their dogs, expression infuriatingly bland. As if Nezumi was something to be pitied rather than feared. As if he were already one of the dead.

Maybe he was losing control of himself, maybe he wasn’t as cold as he needed to be, but Nezumi was not _weak. _And he certainly wasn’t going to let a scruffy mutt like Inukashi get the better of him.

Nezumi lunged again, and this time Inukashi wasn’t fast enough to squirm away from his grip. Inukashi thrashed like a wild animal, but Nezumi had plenty of experience wrestling the writhing forms of the dead, and he always came out on top in those altercations. This situation was no different. They tumbled down into the snow together and Nezumi pinned Inukashi beneath him.

“What was that about losing?” he hissed into their ear. Inukashi snapped at him, but Nezumi anticipated it and pulled back well before their teeth could get purchase. He chuckled. “You have the manners of a dog—or the dead.”

“You’re the one that’s gonna be dead. The Nezumi I knew would never have been caught spacing out, and he would never let himself be goaded so easily. You’re compromised, whether you admit it or not.”

Inukashi whistled, a high sound that set Nezumi’s nerves afire. Snow shifted to his right and Nezumi immediately rolled off Inukashi to the left, pushing to his feet a pace away. Dogs closed in around him, eyes glittering red and teeth bared in silent threat.

Nezumi’s hand dropped to unclip his knife.

Inukashi climbed to their feet and patted the snow from their clothes. “I’ve been waiting for you to slip up, but I never imagined you’d fall this hard on your face when you did. I mean, you’re just downright _sloppy _today. No wonder you didn’t think you could protect Shion without asking for my help—you can’t even protect yourself anymore.” Inukashi nodded to the dogs to their left. “Get him.”

Two dogs kicked off the ground and sprinted at Nezumi. He yanked the knife out of its sheath and batted the first dog aside with his arm. The second went for his leg and managed to get ahold of his pants, wrenching its head back and forth. The still night air rent with the sound of fabric tearing. The dog scuttled forward, trying to get its teeth into his calf, and Nezumi jabbed it in the eye with the butt of his knife handle. The dog released him with a startled yelp.

His eyes scoured the dark for a glint of dog’s eyes. He judged that Inukashi would be wherever the dogs were most concentrated, since their first instinct would be to safeguard their master. Four more sets of dog eyes flashed in the dark, the crunch of their clawed footfalls circling closer.

Hatred burned like poison in Nezumi’s veins.

“You sure you want to play this game, Inukashi?” he called toward the remaining pack. He gripped the knife tighter and pulled the superfiber down from his neck to protect his arms from assault. “I can’t promise I won’t slit one of your precious mutt’s throats.”

“And I can’t promise they won’t rip out yours.”

Nezumi bolted toward Inukashi’s voice. A bony body crashed into him, almost knocking Nezumi sideways. Molten pain lanced down his arm as the dog sunk its jaws into the meat of his shoulder.

“Fuck off,” he growled, and slammed the knife butt between the dog’s eyes. The weight fell away from his shoulder with a sharp animal cry, and Nezumi found Inukashi.

He grasped Inukashi by their long hair and yanked their back against his body, the flat of the knife pressed like a promise to the column of their throat. The dogs crept closer, growling furiously but unable to attack when their master stood between them and their prey.

“Call off the dogs, you little shit,” Nezumi hissed. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat, pumping warm rivulets down his arm where it mingled with Inukashi’s dark hair and melted the snow caught in the strands.

“Or what? You gonna slit my throat?”

“You think I won’t? I’ve killed before.”

“The undead are one thing. I’m a living human,” Inukashi said, voice still low and controlled despite their predicament. “You expect me to believe you’d kill me when you couldn’t even cut a single dog?”

“The only things I hate more than zombie humans are zombie dogs.”

Inukashi tensed in his grip. Their voice trembled when they asked, “What do you mean?”

“I clean the knife after every kill, but...” Nezumi hummed in thought. “One can never be sure if it’s completely sterilized. The particles are microscopic, after all. If I nick a living creature carelessly, even non-fatally, I could accidentally infect them with the virus. And zombie dogs are the worst_._ As I’m sure you’re aware. Zombie teenagers, though… Those I can dispatch easily.”

Nezumi tilted the knife so that the edge of the blade skimmed the thin skin beneath Inukashi’s chin. Inukashi kept stock-still, but a low whimper escaped their throat.

Nezumi eased the blade away, but kept the ridge of his hand pressed against their rabbiting pulse as a warning. “Call off the dogs.”

Inukashi snapped their fingers and immediately the dogs dropped their snarls and sat down in the snow.

“There we are,” Nezumi murmured. “Dogs are so much cuter when they’re obedient.”

“Yeah, yeah, now get that crusty knife away from my face and _let me go_, asshole.”

Nezumi released Inukashi and backed away, slipping his weapon into its sheath.

Inukashi glanced at the blood on the strands of their hair and cursed under their breath. “You better not have infected me with your disgusting bodily fluids.”

“You’re the one who sent your dogs after my bodily fluids.”

“You’re a sicko.”

“What was all this about anyway? It’s not good business to sic your dogs on a paying customer.”

“A private lesson from yours truly. You like lessons, right?” Inukashi crossed their arms and leveled a hard look at him. “You’re not a god, no matter how much you like acting like it. You can’t do everything by yourself. If you try, you’re gonna get shredded.”

The blood dripping down Nezumi’s arm dribbled onto the disturbed snow, creating a pointillism portrait of his mortality. The sight and sensation were familiar.

A night, four years ago, when the same shoulder had been wounded and pouring his life onto the impeccable flowerbeds beneath a stranger’s window.

“Nezumi!”

Nezumi’s head swung toward the voice, unmistakably Shion’s. The faint flicker of a lamp swayed erratically closer.

“That’s my cue,” Inukashi said, mouth curling to the side. “But one more thing, Nezumi…” Their voice dropped into a soft, uncertain tone. “I’ve been looking into the Correctional Facility and No. 6 a bit, and there’s something weird going on. Something related to the infection.”

“What kind of something?”

“Not sure. I’m going to look deeper into the Facility, like you asked. I’ll drop by again when I have something. ‘Til then, see ya around.” Inukashi clapped Nezumi on his wounded shoulder.

White exploded behind Nezumi’s eyes as pain radiated up and down his back like a molten corona. He crumpled to one knee, stifling a gasp behind his teeth.

“Stay down there; that way Shion will feel more like a hero.” Inukashi winked, whistled once to their dogs, and melted into the shadows.

Shion burst onto the scene just as Nezumi pushed himself to his feet again.

“Nezumi! Are you okay?” Shion raised the lantern, and sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re bleeding! What happened? Was it…?”

Shion swept the lantern around the desolate landscape.

“Relax. It was just a dog. A mangy stray that I needed no help dispatching. What are you doing here?”

“He came to get me.” Shion nodded toward his shoulder, where Hamlet was now perched. “I was really worried. I thought the worst had happened…”

“You thought the worst had happened, and yet you ran out here without a second thought, with nothing but a lantern.”

“I brought my holster, too…” Shion lifted the hand without the lantern. The holster hung limply from his fist, the heavy gun swinging like a pendulum at its end.

“You didn’t even take the time to put it on! If I were being eaten by zombies, what hand were you going to use to pull the gun out, huh? For god’s sake, Shion, next time do us both a favor and stay home.”

Nezumi growled and pushed past him. His shoulder ached like a bitch and he needed to get it disinfected and wrapped as soon as possible. He didn’t fear the zombie infection from Inukashi’s mutts—they ran too tight a ship for that—but normal infection was just as dangerous, and dog’s mouths were filthy places.

“I’m sorry,” Shion said. “I should have taken the time to fasten the holster. But all I could think was that you were in trouble and I needed to get to you as fast as I could. I didn’t want to be too late.”

“You _were_ too late.”

Shion’s gaze flitted over the snow illuminated by his lantern, the furrow in his forehead deepening every time a new droplet of bright red blood marred the white. “That looks painful,” he warbled. “I’ll treat it as soon as we’re home.”

When they arrived back at the underground room, Shion tried to steer Nezumi toward the armchair like he was an invalid on the cusp of swooning, as if he hadn’t just walked the whole way here without a single stumble. Nezumi brushed him off and found his own way to the chair.

Shion snatched the first-aid kit and set to cleaning and disinfecting the bite. Nezumi’s shirt sleeve had been torn practically all the way off, so Shion cut the rest of the ruined shirt to provide himself the space to dress the wound properly.

“No sutures this time?” Nezumi asked, only half joking.

“Not this time, sadly. It’s really too bad… You should have let the dog bite into you a little longer, so I could get more practice in. Though,” Shion sat back and tilted his head at the thin pink scar from the bullet wound four-years prior, “I did a darn good job for my first time, if I do say so myself.”

“You do say so, far too often for my liking.” Nezumi shook his head. “I will never understand your sick obsession with sticking needles in people.”

“Oh, but it’s not just sticking needles in people. It’s sticking needles in you, specifically, that I enjoy.” Shion grinned, his dark purple eyes sparkling with mischief.

Nezumi held his gaze without blinking. “I have no response to that. Other than to say you’re an absolute freak.”

“Which you say far too often for _my _liking.” Shion laughed and tied off the dressing in a tight knot. “There you go. All patched up.”

Nezumi rotated his shoulder, testing the give and pull of the bandages. The fabric had lost its elasticity years ago, and yet Shion had managed to tie the dressing snugly, without much inhibiting the movement of his shoulder.

“Good, right?” Shion asked, smiling with quiet pride. “Even with a four-year hiatus, my doctoring skills are still up to snuff.” He clipped the first-aid kit closed and crossed the room to tuck it into its space on the bookshelf.

Nezumi’s eyes followed Shion, studying his knitted sweater, his wild white hair, the long, lean stretch of his body as he stood on tiptoe and reached to place the kit on the uppermost shelf.

Funny, how such a small object could have such a profound effect on the lives of two people. That stormy night, that first-aid kit, a casual conversation in the midst of dressing injuries. These things had bound Shion and Nezumi together so tightly that it seemed neither could escape the echoes.

Shion had saved Nezumi the first night they met, and he hadn’t stopped saving him since. Even when Nezumi didn’t want his help. Shion thought he was doing good, but really, the kindness felt like slow torture.

West Block was harsh, its people cold, its horrors inescapable. The environment molded one into a certain kind of person, more machine than human. Why waste energy and emotion being kind to people when they might turn on you the next time you saw them? You lived your life based on calculation and caution, and good will didn’t fit into the picture. Your ability to survive was directly correlated to self-sufficiency.

Resources were scarce, so you didn’t share them; people were dangerous, so you avoided them; kindness was weakness, so you killed it in the cradle.

Nezumi had learned these lessons young. They had grown into his bones and seared themselves into his memory. He kept them locked and loaded at the back of his throat, ready to fire at anyone who dared forget for even a moment what life outside the wall meant.

But Shion knew none of these lessons. He had grown up safe and warm inside the sterile womb of No. 6, where resources were bountiful, people were helpful, and kindness was synonymous with good manners.

Nezumi had gotten a taste of what life had been for the better half when he snuck into No. 6’s posh district and met Shion. Spacious rooms, a warm bed, and rich, balanced meals. There wasn’t a thing Shion couldn’t have if he wanted it. He was spoiled rotten.

Except he wasn’t.

Shion was the gentlest, kindest, most generous creature Nezumi had ever met. He shared and trusted and questioned with restless, beautiful abandon. He was a wildfire licking at the confines of his cage, throwing warmth and light with each word and every smile. Nezumi spent one night by his side, and in the morning he felt scalded from the inside out. 

He knew that something had warped within him when he woke the next morning to gentle sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window, Shion’s gentle breaths whistling in his ear, his arms wrapped tight around his waist.

Nezumi was used to being broken, to reassembling himself from the pieces tragedy had made of him. He knew what it felt like to have a part of him knocked askew. But the difference in him that morning was one he had never felt before: It was too big for such a small moment, too bright for the darkness of his reality.

Before he met Shion, Nezumi had never been broken and felt _better_ for it.

And every day spent by Shion’s side broke him.

Every word, every look, every breath Shion drew lying at his side each night chipped away at Nezumi’s defenses, leaving him raw and exposed in ways he never wanted to be. He fought against the damage Shion dealt, but most days it felt a little like hammering plywood over a door besieged by a battering ram.

How much easier Nezumi’s life would have been if he had never staggered into the shadow of Shion’s window. How much colder, how much simpler.

“Do you ever regret it?”

“Hm?” Shion twisted around, blowing his overlong bangs out of his eyes with a focused puff of breath. “Regret what?”

“Opening the window four years ago. Helping me out. Your life did a complete 180 that night; even if you’ve made peace with it now, you must have had regrets.”

“Never.” Shion’s answer was instantaneous, his expression one of blank sincerity.

Nezumi blinked, startled. “Never?”

“Never,” Shion repeated, this time with a little heat. “I’ve thought about that night a lot over the years, and even on my most terrible days, I’ve never thought, ‘If only I hadn’t opened the window,’ or ‘If only I hadn’t met Nezumi.’ My life did a 180 that night, but it changed for the _better_, not the worst. The only regret I have is that it took us this long to meet again.”

Nezumi’s chest tightened like a fist. _Dammit_.

Why couldn’t Shion hate him, even if just a little? Nezumi knew how to respond to hate, but this he couldn’t figure out.

Shion came back toward the armchair. “Why are you asking all of a sudden?”

Nezumi narrowed his eyes at Shion, who looked, of all things, perplexed. As if he couldn’t understand how anyone could feel aggrieved at losing their status, their home, and eventually their place in a nice, dead-free quarantine zone.

“Because West Block is filled with things that want to take a bite out of people,” Nezumi growled, gesturing to his shoulder to punctuate the point. “I can’t see how you think your life has changed for the _better_.”

Shion pursed his lips. “Sure, it’s more dangerous, but I like living in West Block more than in No. 6. I know you think that’s ridiculous, but it’s the truth.”

Nezumi was only half listening, because he had noticed Hamlet was still sitting on Shion’s shoulder. The mouse stared at him with grape-colored eyes, his little pink nose twitching in question.

The little snitch.

“If I’m ever in trouble again,” Nezumi said, “don’t even think of coming for me.”

Shion stopped talking mid-word. He closed his mouth slowly and stared back at Nezumi without blinking.

“You wouldn’t be any help,” Nezumi continued. His tone grew harder and angrier the more he spoke. “You’d just get in my way, and probably be ripped to shreds in the process. You’re a completely hopeless case, remember that. If you think you can survive on willpower alone, you’re delusional. The best thing you can do for everyone is to stay here and keep your head down.”

“I can’t do that, Nezumi,” Shion said softly.

“The hell you can’t. Next time a mouse comes to fetch you, don’t listen to a single squeak. Throw a blanket over your head and stay put. You don’t even know how to shoot a gun properly, for god’s sake, what good would you be in a fight? You didn’t even bring your brain when you came running today!”

Shion turned his face aside. “I know. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know. You can’t help it. And that’s why I’m warning you, Shion. Don’t you dare try to be a hero. Don’t go running into danger—not for anyone, and especially not for me. You’ll only get yourself killed.”

Nezumi choked back another torrent of words. They burned his throat. His whole body was on fire.

He needed to make Shion understand. He needed to keep him from doing something stupid—something Shion _knew_ was stupid, but for some stupid reason he would do it anyway. All because of his fruitless morals. All because of his crippling feelings.

Inukashi’s warning rebounded in Nezumi’s head over and over: _He’s gonna try to go after her all by himself._

And whose fault was that?

Who was it that scoffed at Shion again and again for his useless attachments? Who was it that berated Shion for being weak, for not being able to do things on his own? Who was it that told him never to expect a helping hand, that the only person you could trust to be on your side was yourself?

_ Shion’s going after his friend alone, and it’s my fault_.

Nezumi clenched his teeth. “Promise me that you won’t try to save me again.”

“I won’t.” The look Shion leveled at him was full of fire and fury. “I refuse to just sit here and—” he spluttered and threw a hand out toward the bed “—and hide under a fucking _blanket_ when I know you’re in trouble! I don’t care if you don’t want my help. I’ll put my holster on next time—or if there’s not enough time, I’ll swing the gun at the zombies, or tackle them if I have to! I don’t care what I have to do, I’ll do it, without a second thought. If you’re in danger, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

Nezumi squeezed his eyes shut. _You idiot._

“You’re the idiot!”

Nezumi jolted and opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud.

“You’re an idiot if you think I can just think calmly about a situation like that and decide what I should or shouldn’t be doing at that moment. Hamlet came to me squeaking like crazy, and I knew you must be in trouble, and I was worried _sick_, Nezumi! I had no idea what I would find! Did you slip on the snow and break your leg? Were you being robbed? Were you attacked by zombies? Were you bitten? I didn’t know! So how was I supposed to be rational about it?”

Shion took a step closer, his teeth practically grinding from frustration.

Nezumi pressed himself deeper into the back of the armchair. Shion’s cheeks were bright red, and Nezumi worried that if he got any more heated, his head would explode.

Shion glared at him, his shoulders heaving. When Nezumi didn’t say anything, his mouth pinched into a bitter little pout that made him look as likely to burst into tears as unleash another tongue lashing.

“You think I’m being naive again, don’t you?”

“That’s not what I’m thinking.”

“Then you’re laughing at me.”

Nezumi’s mouth twitched unconsciously downward. “I’m not. I promise. Honestly, I’m a little surprised. I’ve never seen you get so worked up before. It’s a good look on you, actually. I wouldn’t mind if you showed this side of yourself more often.”

Shion’s shoulders dropped as he sighed. “I’m always worked up around you. My emotions are all over the place.”

“That’s probably my fault.”

Shion raised his eyebrows. Nezumi tightened his jaw.

What was with him tonight? Why couldn’t he seem to stop running his mouth? He was acting like Shion.

“All that yelling made me hungry,” Nezumi said. “Do we have anything to eat?”

“There’s bread and meat over there.” Shion gestured to the table. “It’s not much, but it should be enough for one person. I already ate earlier.”

“Without me?” Nezumi feigned hurt.

“I’m never sure when you’ll be home on performance nights.”

Nezumi nodded. It was true. His schedule was consistently inconsistent. He couldn’t expect Shion to sit around starving more than he already did.

Shion had already been thin when he first arrived from No. 6, but now his clothes hung off his frame like tacky potato sacks. His holster doubled as a belt to keep his ill-fitting pants from slipping down his nonexistent ass. Shion may not act like a resident of West Block, but he fit the physical description of one now.

Nezumi dropped his gaze to the food on the table to distract himself from the sight.

“Nezumi?”

“Hm?”

“I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.”

Nezumi’s eyes flicked up. Shion had moved closer, his earnest face soft in a way that made Nezumi’s throat ache and his heart beat savagely in his chest.

“If I hadn’t opened the window that night, I never would have known what it is to be furious, or scared, or heartbroken.”

“Those are not good emotions, Shion.”

Shion shook his head. “But without knowing them, I never would have realized how strong I am. I never would have learned to resist the things I know are wrong, or to fight for myself and what I believe in. And without knowing the worst of the world, I wouldn’t have learned how to appreciate the good in it as much as I do now. You taught me all of that, and I’m so grateful.”

Shion lowered his eyes. Nezumi swallowed. He wondered if Shion remembered telling him these same words on the cusp of sleep all those nights ago.

“I’m glad I met you.” Shion’s voice was soft as he bent down, and Nezumi held his breath.

Shion paused inches away from his mouth, eyes still lowered, lashes wavering under the lights like the pale fractals of snowflakes. Then Shion leaned slightly to the right and brushed a kiss against Nezumi’s cheek, his lips soft and fleeting as the skim of butterfly wings.

Nezumi raised an eyebrow as Shion pulled back.

“Was that a thank you kiss?”

“It was a goodnight kiss.”

“Ahh.” Nezumi wet his lips. “I’ll give you a pass since you don’t have much experience, but goodnight kisses are usually on the lips, Shion.”

Shion flushed. “I wasn’t sure if... I don’t know if I’m contagious, since I was infected...”

“You’re not.” Nezumi’s mouth twitched into a smile at the surprise on Shion’s face. “I kept eyes on the lady who took your first. She’s still slinking around back alleys, lusty as ever. And I think she got enough of a mouthful to be undead if you were still contagious.”

“Oh. That’s a relief.”

“Sorry, I should have told you sooner. But I didn’t know you were thinking so hard about goodnight kisses.”

Shion’s gaze tore away from Nezumi’s mouth, where it had fallen during his explanation. He blushed furiously and looked at the clock. “It’s late. We should go to sleep.”

“It’s not that late.”

“Your shoulder is hurt, so you can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor. My shoulder doesn’t hurt that badly; you bandaged it up tight.”

“No, it’s better if I sleep on the floor anyway. I have to get up early to help Inukashi wash dogs. We ran behind today on the long-haired dogs, and if we don’t get their matted fur cleaned soon, they’ll develop skin inflammation.”

Nezumi clicked his tongue. “Did you forget I was bitten by a dog? The last thing I want to talk about is dogs.”

Shion laughed. “Sorry. Goodnight.”

He disappeared into the bookcases, and a moment later, Hamlet scurried after him. Nezumi hadn’t seen the mouse leave Shion’s shoulder, but he must have been scared off by their argument.

Nezumi settled back into the armchair. His shoulder pulsed gently, but the throb in his chest was all his mind had attention for. It wasn’t sadness, and it wasn’t loneliness. The tingling sensation welling in his chest was an older emotion, raw and primal as fear itself.

Tears tracked hot lines down Nezumi’s cheeks, erasing the phantom warmth of Shion’s parting kiss. He curled his legs into his body and buried his face between his knees.

Quietly, Nezumi drank down the tears and the darkness alike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inukashi is good people.
> 
> Also, I promise Shion and Nezumi will kiss on the lips. One of these days >w>


	32. Maybe is Enough

Shion picked his way very carefully over the icy terrain. Every time a step made an audible crunch, his pulse jumped, even though he was too far from the underground room to raise the alarm.

Still, he was alone and there were the dead to consider, and though Shion was still within the confines of West Block’s barrier, he knew from the last time he walked these lands alone that zombies occasionally found their way past the fence line. 

The dawn scene looked ripe for an ill encounter. The sun had only just begun to rise over the edge of the horizon, glowing faint orange behind the grey low-hanging clouds. The snow on the ground was not thick, but it was mostly undisturbed, the field of white stretching on into the distance like rolling fog. Here and there, stiff brown grasses jutted up from the hard earth like skeletal hands grasping desperately at the air.

Shion kept a hand on his holster and his ears strained for sounds of movement, but the land was still and silent as far as he could see. He yanked his coat collar closer about his throat to block out the chill and hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Past the ramshackle houses, boarded-up buildings, and sparse trees, he could still see the warehouse that hid his and Nezumi’s home. No one appeared to be following him; the only footprints in the hard-packed snow were Shion’s own.

_ Did I really manage to fool him? _Shion bit down on his chapped bottom lip and kept walking.

Nezumi was an extraordinary actor and manipulator, the likes of which Shion had never seen before his move to West Block. The other boy could spot bullshit from a mile away, and always criticized Shion for his poor acting and inability to lie convincingly. Shion could scarcely believe he had managed to pull off this biggest deception.

And yet, Nezumi had shown no evidence of suspicion last night. No one was sprinting after him now.

But he and Nezumi had lived together for months; spring was only weeks away, despite the snowy weather. Living so long in each other’s company created a trust between them, consciously or not, and although he was getting better, Shion’s survival in West Block was still heavily reliant on Nezumi’s protection and advice. Perhaps Nezumi had become so comfortable with that reliance and unreserved trust that he didn’t expect Shion to lie to him—he didn’t think him capable of it.

_ Or he’s learned to trust and rely on me back._

Shion’s stomach tied itself into knots.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Nezumi curled up on the cot, blissfully asleep as Shion crept past him and slipped out into the dark of the morning. The shame and guilt he felt as he tiptoed up the stairs like a thief were more biting than the cold that nipped at every bit of his exposed skin.

That distress returned tenfold as Shion imagined the worry Nezumi would feel later today when he realized Shion was late coming home; the anger he would feel when he discovered that Shion had never gone to Inukashi’s; the betrayal when he realized Shion wasn’t coming back.

_ No, I _am_ coming back_, Shion told himself. But he didn’t sound very convincing.

I mean, really, what was he thinking, journeying into the Deadlands, alone, with nothing but a gun he only knew how to shoot at close range? No plan, no map, barely any resources. Just him, and his will, and his brains.

He could have asked for help. The fear coiling in his stomach insisted it wasn’t too late to turn back and do so.

But he wouldn’t and he couldn’t.

Nezumi would not support this venture. He reacted with fury and force when Shion mentioned making a serum against the virus; if he knew Shion intended to cross the Deadlands and storm the Correctional Facility with barely a plan, he would probably chain Shion up in the bathroom again.

But even if somehow Nezumi did understand and support him, Shion still would not ask for his help. He wouldn’t endanger another person he loved in what would probably be a suicide mission.

What Nezumi said last night was correct: he was not cut out for dangerous situations. He had neither the technical skill nor the bloodlust. Shion had passion and determination and his stubborn moral compass, and that was all. He was going to get himself killed.

But maybe he wouldn’t.

Shion had brushed with death several times already and escaped miraculously unscathed, so maybe his luck hadn’t run out. That maybe was enough—it _had_ to be. Because doing nothing was out of the question.

Safu needed him, and Shion had already let her down so many times throughout their sixteen-year friendship. He refused to fail her this time, because if he did, it would be final.

Shion couldn’t see the Correctional Facility from where he stood now—there were miles of ghost neighborhoods, and zombies, and the waste of a decade between them—but the mere thought of that place held an aura so strong that fear and desperation thickened at the back of his throat. It was the blackhole of No. 6; no one dared speak of it, and if anyone you knew were arrested by the Security Bureau and taken there, you were expected to act as though that person never existed.

That was the sort of place Safu had been taken.

He had so many questions about why Safu was back in No. 6. Had she been arrested in No. 5 and flown back here? Had something happened to her grandmother that made her return? Had his mother told her about his arrest, and Safu had returned to fight the Security Bureau on the charges?

Shion worried his lip between his teeth. He didn’t think Safu was so reckless as to take on the Security Bureau head-to-head, but he had seen her rant at classmates in indignant fervor before, and knowing she was capable of acting out her temper worried Shion. Safu was highly intelligent, but she was also passionate, and those two qualities were devastating when united over a cause.

In the end, though, the reason didn’t matter. The coat in the shopping district and Inukashi’s confession about their shipment provider confirmed that Safu had been taken to the Correctional Facility. She wouldn’t be getting out unless he broke her out.

Shion spotted the fence line in the distance. The area was composed of heavy wooden boards and scrap metal, and though some of the sections were topped with barbed wire, he could see gaps where he might be able to scale the wall and climb over. Just a few feet of wood and metal separated him from the Deadlands and the Correctional Facility.

_ And Safu_.

Shion fisted his hands at his sides and picked up his pace.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

Shion stopped dead in his tracks. His mind did a quick calculation of his options: pretend he didn’t hear, run, play dumb, launch into an explanation, fall to the ground and beg forgiveness. They were all terrible.

Shion turned around.

Nezumi’s skin was grey in the feeble dawn, and his hair and eyes held the lingering shadows of night. The washed-out beauty of his features in the pale light likened him to a specter, transformed him into a storybook warning: Move forward at your own peril.

But his expression was soft and unassuming. Laughter even played at the corners of his mouth.

Shion was too far away to make out the truth in his eyes.

“The hotel is back that way.” Nezumi swept a hand toward town and the quarantine wall, which loomed unmistakably in the opposite direction.

Shion huffed. “I knew it.”

Of course his poor acting hadn’t fooled Nezumi. How had he ever convinced himself it was possible?

“If you knew, then why didn’t you turn around?” Nezumi canted his head to the side, his smile spritely and sweet.

Shion clenched his jaw. Nezumi was playing with him, but Shion didn’t have time to play around. Every second was precious time Safu might not have.

“I don’t want to bring you into this, Nezumi,” Shion called over the barren space between them. “I’m going out there.” He gestured past the barrier. “Safu’s imprisoned in the Correctional Facility, and I have to go after her.”

Nezumi’s smile dropped in an instant, and Shion saw the truth behind the facade, hard and furious as a punch. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I _do_! She’s my best friend, Nezumi! I’m not abandoning her.”

“You don’t know the first thing about surviving the Deadlands. You don’t even have fucking supplies!” He threw a hand out at Shion’s meager person. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Maybe,” Shion snapped. “But I’m going to try anyway. You’re always telling me that I need to act for myself. Well, that’s what I’m doing. I’m going to the Correctional Facility to rescue Safu. I’m not asking for your help, and I definitely don’t need your permission.” He squared his shoulders and matched Nezumi’s gaze strength for strength. “You always said we’d go our separate ways one day, and I guess you were right. Whatever debt there was between us, consider it over. You can stop seeing me as your problem; I’ll take care of myself from now on.”

Shion kept his body still and his face resolute, but his insides were a tight, writhing mess of emotions. He hated that he had to say these words to Nezumi, but they needed to be said, and they were what a toughened West Block resident would have said a long time ago.

Nezumi dropped his hand. His expression had lapsed into blankness. Apparently, he still wasn’t impressed by Shion’s performance.

Shion suppressed a sigh. What a terrible goodbye. He never imagined he and Nezumi would part like this—that they would have to part at all. But it had to be this way and there wasn’t enough time to make it pretty.

“I’ll be alright,” he said to Nezumi as he turned toward the fence. “Thanks for everything.”

Shion only made it one step before the back of his leg was kicked out from beneath him. He pitched forward and landed hard on his hands and knees in the frost.

Shion hissed in pain and turned his head. “Nezumi—”

“Heads up.”

Shion gasped and rolled to the side as Nezumi’s leg swung through the air where Shion’s head had been a second before. He scrambled to his feet and backed away as Nezumi pursued.

“Nezumi, wait! Stop! Let’s talk about this.” Shion’s body jolted as his back bumped up against the wooden portion of the fence.

“You can’t reason with the dead, Shion. You’ve gotta do better than that if you want to survive.”

Shion pushed off the wall and tried to escape off to the side as Nezumi threw a punch—but the punch was a feint. Nezumi snatched him by the collar of his coat, and the next thing Shion knew, his back leg shot out from under him and he fell sprawled on his back in the snow.

He wheezed, and for a few terrifying, back-aching seconds, he thought his lungs would never draw in air again. But then his throat sucked in a short breath. And then another, and another, and Shion could finally focus on Nezumi, who was perched on top of him, gripping his collar in both hands now, and sneering like he planned to deliver a few actual punches before this was through.

“Don’t do that again,” Nezumi growled.

“Do what?” Shion’s voice fluttered, his lungs still greedy for air and loath to give it up to speech.

“Lie to me. Do you think I’m an idiot? That I can’t tell the difference between a goodnight kiss and a goodbye?” Nezumi’s fingers curled in the fabric of Shion’s coat, jostling his head. “Give me some fucking credit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apology, I want your promise.”

“I promise. I won’t lie to you again.”

“And don’t belittle me. Promise that, too.”

Shion’s eyes widened. “I didn’t.”

“You did,” Nezumi snarled. “Lying to someone is belittling them. And then you added insult by mocking my debt and turning your back on me.”

Shion lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled instinctively, then immediately met Nezumi’s gaze and said with more solidity, “I promise I won’t do that again.”

Nezumi glared down at him a moment longer, then exhaled slowly. He rolled off of Shion and stood, offering him a hand. Shion took it and let Nezumi haul him to his feet.

“Promise me one more thing,” Nezumi said as Shion dusted the ice crystals out of his hair and off his coat. “Don’t ever give me a goodbye kiss again. _Especially _not on the cheek. Do you know how humiliating that is?”

Shion’s face heated. “Okay, I won’t. Can you stop now? You keep telling me not to apologize but giving me more things to feel sorry about.”

Nezumi crossed his arms and glowered at the sun still trying to fight its way over the horizon and past the thick clouds.

“Speaking of that,” Nezumi muttered.

“Hm?”

“Inukashi’s looking into the Correctional Facility. They haven’t found anything helpful yet, but they’ll report back to me when they do. So you don’t have to go around lying to everyone and sneaking out at the crack of dawn to live out your suicidal hero fantasy.”

Shion stared at Nezumi, his mind utterly blank. “I don’t understand. Inukashi’s looking into the Correctional Facility?”

“Your friend Safu…” Nezumi glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and cleared his throat. “I’ve known about her for a while.”

In response to Shion’s increasing confusion, Nezumi slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Shion took the note and smoothed it out in the palm of his hand.

_ Safu was taken away by the Security Bureau. Help. -K_

Shion’s breath stuttered in his throat. His mother sent this. Had she been with Safu when it happened? Was his mom also in danger?

“When did you get this?” His voice sounded far away, even to his own ears. His body was in West Block, aching and trembling with shock, but his mind was in No. 6, disoriented by the thought of his mother, powerless, alone, and surrounded by enemies.

“A day or two after I returned from the Deadlands.”

Nezumi had known for a week or more. 

“Your Mama is safe; I made sure of it. Your friend… I’m not so sure. But Inukashi will be able to dig up something on the Facility, and then we can come up with a plan to save her. One that doesn’t involve us getting eaten by zombies or arrested by the Security Bureau. Alright? So don’t go running off again.”

Shion nodded slowly. “I guess I should thank you, then. You saved me from running headfirst into a disaster.”

Nezumi snorted, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he shrugged his shoulder. “It’s old hat by now. But your acknowledgement of the struggle I face daily is appreciated.”

“Hm. Yes, your face.”

Nezumi turned and frowned at him. “What?”

Shion pulled back his arm the way he remembered Nezumi doing and punched him in the face. It wasn’t a very good punch—Nezumi’s head barely turned with the impact, and Shion’s knuckles throbbed from glancing off his jaw—but it was worth it for the complete and absolute shock on the other boy’s face.

Nezumi pressed his fingers to his cheek, but even though it was a bit red, it must not have hurt much, because he dropped his hand without even a wince.

“What the hell?” Nezumi demanded.

“You deserved that,” Shion said. “It’s your fault I almost ran off. If you had just told me about this memo and your plan, I would’ve understood. The only reason I lied to you and tried to sneak away was because I thought you wouldn’t support me.” Shion clenched his aching fist around the note. “You lied to me, and belittled me.”

Nezumi went still.

For the first time in a long time, Shion could see a tinge of shame in his face, and that was enough to mollify him. His anger and hurt at the note being hidden from him, his indignation at Nezumi for hiring Inukashi behind his back, for yelling at and attacking him in his twisted expression of worry, faded from Shion’s chest.

But he still had more to say while he had Nezumi humbled.

“I understand that you were worried I’d act rashly if you showed me the note, but you had no right to keep it from me. I don’t want to be coddled; I’ve told you so many times already. How am I supposed to get stronger and smarter when you’re purposely sheltering me from the terrible things going on? I don’t want you to be my protector, Nezumi. I want to be your equal.”

Nezumi studied him, his grey eyes incisive as the knife he kept on hand at all times. Nezumi always had a critical eye on him, Shion knew, but the quality of this evaluation felt different.

Things would change between them from now on, he was certain of it.

Nezumi ran a hand through his short hair and mussed it a few times before dropping his arm with a huff. “Alright. I hear what you’re saying. I swear that I won’t lie or belittle you again either.”

“Good.” Shion nodded. “Let’s go home. I think I might have sprained my wrist when I punched you.”

“Seriously?”

“Maybe not, but it really hurts.” Shion cradled his arm to his chest and began trudging back toward the underground room.

“That’s because you did it all wrong. Your wrist was floppier than a dead fish.”

“No one ever taught me to punch properly. ‘Hitting Your Lying Roommate in the Face’ wasn’t an elective course in the Gifted Curriculum.”

“You snide bastard,” Nezumi growled.

They continued to grumble back and forth as they crunched over the snow.

Before them, a few rays of sun peeked up over the clouds for a buttery, golden moment before the fat grey clouds swallowed them up again.


	33. Expectations

Shion sat on the crumbling front steps of the hotel, combing a brush through the thick hair of a grey mongrel. The old dog grunted its contentment occasionally, and the other dogs edging around the plaza, awaiting their turn, watched with anxious longing. Shion hardly noticed, however. His hands moved on autopilot, his mind faraway, across the barren plains of the Deadlands where the Correctional Facility stood.

Shion had seen the building before, featured in Security Bureau seminars and science classes, in equal parts touted as a center of scientific wonders and threatened as a poorly lived life’s dead end. He could picture it now: the towering chalk-white walls muting the sunlight that fell upon them, its haphazard tiers and wings climbing every which way like a belligerent cancerous mass erupting from the tired earth. He imagined Safu, locked away in one of those rooms, her mind buzzing, her eyes defiant, her heart hoping. Shion’s heart reached back to her over the miles.

He wouldn’t run blindly after her again. Nezumi assured him that the foundation of a plan was being laid, and Shion had given him his word that he would wait until they had talked things over and formed a strategy. But Shion had to keep reminding himself of this; no matter what his mind knew, his body felt a ceaseless urge to get up and run toward the fence line.

Every time he finished with a dog or stood to fill his pail at the small creek, his heart pounded and his blood sang, _Now, go now._ The panic was suffocating. Being patient had never been such a torment.

Shion was thankful that he had the dogs’ demands to distract him from his worries. He wished Inukashi were here as well, but they had departed almost as soon as Shion had arrived that morning, saying they had “work stuff” to do.

_ Work stuff_. Shion prayed that that meant they were investigating Safu’s plight, or that they were close to the end of their information gathering and would soon call him and Nezumi to the table to plan.

The dog whined, and Shion realized his hand had stilled mid-brush. He murmured an apology and began brushing again. He had only just finished the grey dog’s coat when a gaggle of puppies tumbled through the hotel door behind him, yapping and whining for attention.

Shion glanced back at them and then squinted up at the sun. “Food time already?”

Every dog within hearing distance swiveled their head towards him at those magic words.

Shion struggled to his feet and stretched as a horde of panting, jumping dogs crowded his legs, licking his hands and nosing his thighs. He had to be very careful scaling the crumbling stairs to the hotel lobby, but he managed to make it without being trampled under paws.

Shion hefted the dog chow out of the room where Inukashi kept it—behind a closed, locked door so that no sneaky dogs or desperate customers could get to it—and dished out twenty servings to the adolescent and adult dogs, and six softer portions for the growing puppies. Once he had finished, he replaced the food, locked the door, and slumped down to the floor against it. The clanging sound of the dogs scarfing down their meals set his nerves on edge. He stared across the lobby at the sun streaming in through the open door.

_ Safu. Wait for me. I’m coming._

Shion’s heart pounded like a countdown.

\-----

Rikiga’s gaze bored into Nezumi with reasonably laid suspicion, but Nezumi had perfected the art of feigning ignorance, and so he stared back with a patient smile on his face.

“Work with you?” Rikiga repeated after the staring contest had proved fruitless. “You want _me_ to work with _you_?” His booze-addled brain seemed to be struggling to understand how anyone would willingly choose to be in business with him.

Which was fair. If Nezumi could have gone somewhere else, he would have. 

“With me, yes. I want you to provide me with a list of the high-class clientele who frequent your services, and to gather pertinent information and report it back to me. Or to Inukashi, if you prefer their company over mine.”

“Give you information on No. 6 officials?” Rikiga pursed his lips. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I’ll pay you a king’s ransom if you cooperate. Enough for a new secret hideaway and still have leftovers to buy some top-shelf booze. Though you seem to prefer the house stuff.” Nezumi nudged an empty beer bottle with the tip of his boot.

A debauched assortment glass bottles, crumpled aluminum cans, and moldering magazines littered the second floor of the building where he and Rikiga were now negotiating. Rikiga claimed that this was the office from which he conducted most of his business, but Nezumi could see more evidence of play than work. But then, perhaps Rikiga didn’t know how to properly separate the two.

Rikiga scoffed. “And what makes you think I’d want your dirty money? Or, no—what makes you think I’d trust a single word that comes out of your mouth, Eve? You’re a serpent when it comes to deals; always slithering in and out as you please. I’m not risking my livelihood on some scheme of yours that may or may not pan out.”

“It’s not a scheme. It’s a serious issue. Your assistance could mean the difference between life and death.”

“Hah!” Rikiga barked. “Yeah, right. Practicing some new act on me, are you? Well, let me give you some advice: Lay off the overly poetic language; it ruins the effect. ‘The difference between life and death.’ Ridiculous.”

“As much as you dislike and distrust me, this isn’t a favor you want to refuse. It’s Shion’s issue I’m asking for help on. I thought you wanted to be in his good graces?”

“Shion?” Rikiga straightened, and for a brief second, his animosity lapsed into something soft and sorry. But then his face slammed shut and the resentment was back full force. “What’s he got to do with it?”

Nezumi ceased his inspection of the dingy, dirty room and dropped down into the only chair without trash strewn all over it. A brown, sticky-looking stain glistened on the right armrest, which Nezumi fastidiously avoided by interlacing his fingers and reclining with his hands tucked behind his head.

He arched an impatient eyebrow at Rikiga. “Have you been listening to a single word I’ve said? This favor is for Shion, life or death, we need you fleece information out of your lecherous customers. I knew alcohol numbed the senses,” Nezumi muttered as he kicked the collection of cans off the coffee table to make room for his feet, “but I didn’t realize it rendered one completely deaf.”

Rikiga glared, first at Nezumi’s legs stretched over his handsome, but barbarously mistreated coffee table, and then at Nezumi himself. He crossed his arms. “You really have no concept of decorum, do you?”

Nezumi flashed him his prettiest smile.

“It’s clear you didn’t learn any respect when you were little, and your time as a third-rate actor has only made you more insufferable. It’s about time someone taught you your place.”

“My, my,” Nezumi laughed. “Is dear old dad going to give me a timeout?”

“A beating, more like. Conk! Get in here.”

Nezumi narrowed his eyes as a mountain of a man entered the room from the door at the back. His shoulders were so broad, he had to turn sideways to get through the door frame.

“Give this brat a lesson in respect, would you?” Rikiga said as the man came to stand beside him. “Pay special attention to his face. I’d love to see how well he gets on without his pretty looks.”

Rikiga smirked down at him triumphantly. Nezumi could have rolled his eyes. If Rikiga thought he’d be cowed by this display, or that he’d quail at a larger opponent, then he had a rude awakening coming.

Nezumi assessed the hired muscle, but he didn’t need to look farther than the man’s face to realize that Rikiga’s awakening would be ruder than he had thought—he recognized the look on Conk’s face all too well.

_ Oh, this will be no trouble at all._ Nezumi let the smile forming on his lips bloom into one of surprise and delight.

“Oh, Mr. Rikiga,” he gasped. “You really do make dreams come true.”

Nezumi pulled his legs off the coffee table and swept out of the armchair with the lively grace of an eager cat. “Conk, was it? I’ve noticed you at my shows before, but I never imagined I’d be able to meet you!” Nezumi clasped the man’s hand between his.

The enormous man blinked rapidly between Nezumi’s face and the pale, delicate fingers entwined around his enormous tanned hand. Shock and awe rippled across his brow. “You wanted to meet... me?”

“Of course. It’s not everyday a lowly actor like myself comes face-to-face with his number one fan. Though, I don’t think I’m deserving of the honor.” Nezumi’s smile dipped self-consciously.

“No!” Conk spluttered. His free hand flew up to clasp Nezumi’s, gentle and reverent. “The honor’s all mine, Eve! I-I’ve followed you since your debut. You… you’re an angel on stage. There’s no one better than you.”

Rikiga’s eyes darted between Nezumi and Conk, his brain doing a rapid calculation of the enormity of his error. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he intoned.

Conk swallowed and whispered, “I can’t believe I’m talking to you right now. That I’m...” He glanced down at their hands.

Nezumi laughed lightly. “Thank you for all the gifts. The flowers you sent last time were exquisite.”

The man’s eyes went wide. “You knew they were from me?”

“Of course. I’ve been watching you for some time. You’ve never missed a show, and you’re always in the front row when I perform. The song I sang two nights ago was for you. I wasn’t sure if you noticed…?”

“I thought you might have been looking at me, but I—” His whole body trembled. “I didn’t dare hope.”

Conk looked ready to swoon and/or burst into tears, so Nezumi decided to have mercy on everyone and put an end to the performance.

“Conk, Mr. Rikiga and I were discussing a business proposal, but I would love to sit down and chat with you when we’re done. Would you be able to prepare some coffee while we finish up?”

“Oh,” Conk gasped, “yes. Yes, of course. I can heat up scones, too. There’s a plate in the kitchen. Would you like that?”

“I would like that very much. Thank you, Conk.”

The large man gave Nezumi a bright smile and released his hand to scurry off into the kitchen like a twitterpated mouse.

“What a lovely man,” Nezumi remarked, turning to Rikiga. “Thank you for introducing us.”

Rikiga looked like he had just sucked on a lemon. “You’re gonna break his heart if you don’t have coffee with him.”

“Of course I’ll have coffee with him. It always pays to know other raiders, especially muscle like that. I imagine he packs quite the punch when he’s in the mood.”

Rikiga scoffed and kicked a bottle at his feet. It rattled across the floorboards before bouncing off a stack of fresh pornography and bowling over a collection of empty cigarette cartons.

“Are you done playing around?” Rikiga growled.

“Are you?” Nezumi raised his eyebrows, mouth tilted up at the corners.

Rikiga crossed his arms and stared resolutely at the wall just over Nezumi’s shoulder. “So you need a list of my top-rankers, and for me to keep an ear out for any juicy gossip. Is that it?”

“Just about.” Nezumi grinned and swept a hand toward the armchair. “Sit. I want us to have all the details ironed out before dear Conk finishes with the coffee and scones.”

\---- 

Shion stared at Safu as she lifted her mug to her lips. They were in the coffee shop just around the corner from where Safu had her school labs, a place they had visited only a handful of times since he and Safu had each started vocational school.

After Shion had been ousted from Chronos and removed from the Gifted Curriculum, he and Safu hadn’t had many chances to meet. She was fast-tracking her way through the physiology program, and Shion struggled to juggle university and a part-time job on top of helping his mother in the bakery. Neither of their schedules left much time for socialization. But they still called each other every few months, and once or twice a year, the stars aligned and they were able to meet and catch up over coffee.

Safu was wearing her baby pink scarf and grey coat, so Shion knew this memory was of the last time he saw her, just before she had left for her study abroad.

Shion watched Safu across the table, studying the soft, feminine lines of her face and wondering where the time had gone. Safu had always been pretty in an unobtrusive way, her small, heart-shaped face and doe-large eyes added flourishes to the singularity of her mind. But studying her in that moment, against the backdrop of the street and the bustling patrons of the coffee shop, Shion was struck by how much Safu had matured since he last saw her.

Where had the years gone, and how had he let himself miss so many of them?

Safu met his gaze over the rim of her mug, mid-sip. Her eyes matched the smooth, rich color of the coffee she drank, and through the steam wafting off the surface, he could see laughter sparkling in their depths.

“What are you thinking?” asked Safu, setting her cup down.

“You’re beautiful.”

This was not how the conversation went, but if Shion could go back, he would have said this and more. He would have told her how he admired her strength and wit and intelligence. He would have promised to make more time to see her, he would have said he’d visit her while she was on exchange. He would have told her to not pick any fights with the Security Bureau, not to worry about him, to wait for him. Even if he couldn’t give himself to her like she wanted, even though it was selfish.

Safu narrowed her eyes at him, but a smile tugged at her lips. “You should be more careful what you say, Shion. That kind of talk leads to _expectations_.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Shion stared at the table. His teacup was empty and bone dry, and Safu’s coffee was no longer steaming.

“It’s alright,” Safu sighed. “It wouldn’t have come to anything anyway. It’s too late now.”

She turned to look out the front window. It was pitch black outside but for the faint glow of the quarantine wall in the distance. Her profile broke Shion’s heart.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered. “We’re coming for you, Safu. Just hold on a little longer, okay? We’re going to save you.”

Safu stayed angled toward the window, but she turned her head back to him and smiled. “You’re a good person, Shion. But really,” she murmured, her voice warm, but eyes bright with the sadness she never had the heart to speak, “you should be more careful what you say. That kind of talk leads to expectations.”

Shion hurtled out of sleep, Safu’s name lodged in his throat.

His cheeks were wet, and he could feel the cold, damp kiss of the pillow beneath his chin where tears must have been soaking it for a while. Shion’s whole body burned and tingled, but the pressure was the worst in the center of his chest, pushing up into his throat. He shuddered, burying his mouth in the blanket before the sob could escape his lips. Fresh tears slipped out of the corner of his eye and rolled over the bridge of his nose.

He hated this. He hated that he had to wait and sleep in this bed another night without knowing where Safu was, or if she was alright. He hated that he had wasted so many years keeping his best friend at arm's length. He hated that he was constantly forced to face his powerlessness.

“Shion?”

Shion curled further in on himself. He always slept facing the wall and he was glad of it. He didn’t want Nezumi to know he was crying. He didn’t want to hear what he’d say.

The mattress dipped, and Shion knew Nezumi had turned to face him. The back of his neck was on fire with his gaze. Shion held his breath to keep Nezumi from hearing it shudder, but his body started to shake with the effort, and soon he couldn’t control it anymore. A soft, suffocated sound escaped his throat when he tried to breathe through his nose and couldn’t.

“Are you crying?”

_ God, just leave me alone!_ _Why did you wake up? Just go back to sleep._

“Did you have a bad dream?”

When he didn’t answer, Nezumi nudged his shoulder.

“_No_,” Shion said, flinching away. He hated the thick, wet sound of his voice. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hear what? What are you talking about?”

Shion didn’t answer. He had managed to get the tears to stop for the moment, but he felt ugly and angry and so sad he thought he might start crying again at the slightest provocation.

“Shion,” Nezumi huffed. “Look at me.”

“I’m serious, Nezumi. Leave me alone.”

“Please?”

Shion swallowed his next refusal. He didn’t want to face Nezumi looking as he did, but the word “please” from Nezumi’s lips had power over him.

Reluctantly, Shion rolled over. He scowled at Nezumi’s face in the lamplight, beautiful and inscrutable and not the least bit puffy from crying or disturbed sleep.

“It’s not a waste,” Shion growled. “They’re _my_ tears, I can shed them whenever and for whomever I want.”

Nezumi’s expression changed minutely. Shion could perceive it, but he couldn’t pinpoint the emotion behind it. Was it disappointment? Amusement? Regret? He wished Nezumi wasn’t such an accomplished actor. He wished he possessed the same talent for hiding his feelings.

Nezumi leaned forward and pressed his lips to Shion’s.

Heat rippled through Shion’s body, but by the time the wave made it down to his toes, Nezumi had already pulled away. Shion stared, unblinking, across the six-inch distance between them, and Nezumi did the same, his grey eyes like slivers of moonlight breaking through the cloudy dim of the room. He seemed to be waiting for Shion to speak first, but Shion’s voice stayed lodged at the back of his throat, behind a wall of unshed tears and mucus.

“Why?” The word burst from Shion’s mouth with a violence.

Why did Nezumi kiss him _now_? He didn’t feel kissable, and he seriously doubted he looked very attractive with his puffy, bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“A deal is a deal,” Nezumi said simply. “You landed a punch.”

Shion opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but then the pieces snapped together.

_ “Tell you what, Shion. If you manage to land a punch on me, I’ll kiss you.”_

Back when they were practicing marksmanship, Nezumi had probably issued that challenge as a taunt only. But Shion had met it, so he had to fulfill his end.

The warmth curling in Shion’s abdomen dulled. So that was it. It was a transaction, not so different from Shion’s stolen first in the alleyway. Nezumi wasn’t kissing him because he wanted to; he was discharging a debt.

_ Nezumi and his debts. _Shion clenched his jaw. _Is that all I’m ever going to be to him?_ A series of responsibilities he could never quite dispatch? And Shion had thought they’d leveled the ground between them when they’d exchanged blows this morning.

_ Alright_. _Fine. I’ll be a debt you can’t be rid of, then._

Nezumi’s grey eyes seemed to darken as he studied Shion’s silence. “Well that’s a look,” he said, a touch of surprise in his voice. “Did I offend you in some way?”

“Yes, actually. I’m offended that you think that kiss was equal to my punch. My punch was much better than that.”

“...Are you serious?” The question was half laugh, half scoff. “Your punch sucked—even you admitted it!”

“Yes, well.” Shion’s eyes darted away for a moment as he reached for a reasonable reply. “That was to be expected. It _was_ my first time. But you’ve bragged so much about your former conquests that… I don’t know, I guess I just thought that a kiss from you would be better than that. As far as stolen kisses go, I’m going to have to say the prostitute wins.”

Shion’s face heated the moment the words left his mouth. He had been letting his mouth run of its own accord—fueled by an irritable compulsion to discredit Nezumi the way he felt Nezumi had discredited him—and so he didn’t even know what he would say before he said it.

And now that he had said it, Shion realized that that was quite possibly the most insulting thing he had ever said to anyone. It was certainly the most insulting thing he had ever said to Nezumi, and it wasn’t even true. Shion would take an obligatory peck from Nezumi over that woman’s deep dive any day.

Nezumi’s brows went up and his lips pulled taut and his was such an expression of chagrined astonishment that Shion wanted to melt into the ground.

“_Wow_,” Nezumi said, somehow managing to sound flat and sharp at the same time. “Fuck you too.” He rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling.

Shion swallowed down his shame and followed suit. He tapped his finger incessantly on his stomach under the blankets, trying to decide if he should let the comment stand or apologize.

_ I should definitely apologize! I can’t believe I said that! _Shion squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath. “I’m so—”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Nezumi growled. “You’re trying to get me to kiss you again. But it’s not going to work.”

Shion peered at Nezumi’s stony profile. Super mad, yup. Shion’s insides writhed. He pulled the blanket up over his face.

“You’re right,” he mumbled through the fabric. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I was just trying to make you mad.”

“Obviously,” Nezumi scoffed. “You don’t even like women.”

Shion pulled the blanket down from his face and frowned. “I never said I don’t like women. I like women just fine.”

“You don’t like women, Shion.”

Shion sat up to glare properly at Nezumi’s face. “Just because I didn’t enjoy being harassed by a prostitute, you think I don’t like girls? That’s presumptuous of you.”

“I _presume_ you don’t like girls,” Nezumi said, voice caustically low and serrated malice in his eyes, “because when a beautiful girl you’ve known your whole life asked you to have sex with her, you acted like you only just realized she was a woman.”

Shion’s face burned. How did Nezumi know that? He wasn’t even there; it had been just him and Safu in front of the station when she’d confessed.

_ Safu. _Shion’s stomach dropped.

God, what were they even talking about? Why were they fighting about something so stupid when Safu was out there fighting for her life? Shion’s throat burned and he had to look away from Nezumi. He wouldn’t cry, not again.

Perhaps this was why Nezumi had a rule against crying: it accomplished nothing, and crying in front of other people only gave you more things to be ashamed of.

“We’ll find her, Shion,” Nezumi said softly. “Just be patient a little longer.”

Shion nodded to the wall and laid back down.

It was a long time before he found sleep again.


	34. Remorse, Regret, Resignation

It was eight at night by the time the Mayor settled down at his desk to tuck into the bento he’d packed for lunch. The morning and afternoon had been jam-packed with meeting after meeting, and when those were over, he had to make a social visit to the elementary school for the sake of his public image.

Not that his image was in danger. But the Mayor had been the uncontested leader of No. 6 since the wall’s erection over a decade ago, and whenever he felt people had started to forget him, he scheduled a public speech or outreach effort in order to remind his citizens just who was responsible for their ongoing comfort and prosperity. Plus, with another election in a year and a half, it was important to foster a reputation for being seen and involved in the community.

The Mayor carefully peeled off the steaming plastic top of the tonkatsu bento. It smelled deliciously of sauces and he was especially looking forward to the sweet egg rolls that accompanied the main course.

The Mayor was a man of routines, and ordered this exact bento every morning for lunch. The convenience store owner who operated on the first floor of the Moondrop had picked up on this very quickly, and now he always had a meal sent up for him at the start of each day, which the Mayor appreciated. The store was often crowded in the morning with employees shuffling around in pre-coffee stupors, and he absolutely detested waiting in line and making small talk like a regular citizen.

He lifted his chopsticks and plucked a sweet egg roll from the container, salivating with the anticipation of its warm, fluffy texture melting on his tongue.

And then, of course, the door to his office swung open. His oldest friend and head scientist swept into the room, his stark white lab coat swishing about his knees.

“Fennec! The resonance tests were successful across the board. This opens up so many new possibilities.”

The Mayor stared at the odious man, the sweet egg roll hovering just before his lips. His stomach gave an irritable gurgle.

The man blinked at him and traded a glance between the bento and the Mayor’s forbidding expression. “Is that your lunch?”

“Yes.” He shoved the roll into his mouth, because god dammit he was going to eat _something _today, and growled through his chewing, “What do you want?”

“Should I come back later?”

“You’re here now, so just tell me.”

The Mayor continued to shove food into his mouth while the man carried on as though he saw nothing.

“My experiment on resonance. You remember the one? I modified a strain of the Elyurias infection to lay dormant inside the host until activated by a resonant tone. Well, it works. A resounding success one might call it.” The man flared out the back of his lab coat so he could stuff his hands in his slacks’ pockets and grinned.

The Mayor finished chewing a piece of cutlet and peered up at him. “That’s great. And you interrupted me to tell me that...why?”

“We’re going to activate the candidates in the other quarantine zones in a few days, yes? With this new version of Elyurias, we could inject more candidates, and stagger the rate of activation.”

“And why would we want that?” the Mayor sighed. He placed another cutlet in his mouth and wiped an errant bit of sauce from his chin. “What’s wrong with the plan we already have?”

“Well, using the updated version would provide us with valuable data.”

The Mayor grunted. He failed to find this compelling. When his friend realized this, the man pursed his lips.

“2.0 makes the spread of infection look more natural, and ensures that the other cities cannot eliminate the threat by simply removing or killing the few we already planted. When the first wave looks like it’s under control, and then suddenly another case pops up here, another there, without the victims seeming to have been in contact, it will incite mass panic. People may believe the old virus has mutated, maybe become airborne.”

The Mayor stopped mid-bite. An airborne infection. Of course, their tinkering with the infection had not created such a thing, and the Mayor would never want the research to go in that direction, but even the thought of such a danger sent goosebumps racing across his skin. If people thought that they could catch the disease at any time, any place, without knowing why, they would be terrified and inconsolable.

“When that happens, they’ll scramble for a solution. And when they see how well No. 6 is combating the outbreak,” the man pulled one hand from his pocket and gestured at the Mayor, palm up, “they will come running to you all the quicker. They will beg at your feet for relief. And when you deliver them… Well, you’ll be a god in their eyes.”

Warmth pooled in the pit of the Mayor’s stomach. Since the inception of this project nearly a decade ago, he had dreamed of the governors and mayors of the other zones bowing to him, sniveling before him and kissing his feet.

He had always been destined for great and powerful things. He had been campaigning—with resounding success—for Prime Minister before the first wave hit and knocked the world off course, and all his aspirations with it. The Mayor had fought tooth and nail to rise to power in Quarantine Zone No. 6, but it was such a small piece of what he deserved.

The release of the Elyurias strain into the zones would be the first step in delivering to him what he was owed. Once he had set himself up as the only salvation, it would be a short campaign to convince the remaining population that he should be the ultimate ruler of the living world.

“Yes,” the Mayor mused. “I see what you mean.” He set his chopsticks aside and considered a moment. “If we’re going with 2.0, we’ll have to pick out more citizens to infect. The candidates in the other zones can be whomever, but we’ll have to make careful choices here in No. 6. They can’t be too important or suspicious, and they have to be only those who we can carefully monitor. That way, when the outbreak hits, we will look besieged like everyone else, but we’ll also be able to control the damage.”

The man smiled. “Of course. That’s a sensible idea. I’ll compile a list of candidates and send it to you along with a few vials of the vaccine.”

“Yes, that sounds good. Thank you.”

The man turned to leave. His lab coat hissed softly as it slithered out the door.

\-----

When Nezumi came to pick him up from work, Shion’s heart skipped a beat. Nezumi hardly ever came to get him, usually being too busy acting or on other business, and most afternoons Shion walked home with his dog escort, perfectly safe and happy but for the want of a better conversation partner.

Seeing Nezumi here, serious-faced and unannounced, filled Shion with hope that his waiting was at an end. Finally, Inukashi had collected enough information for them to begin planning their infiltration of the Correctional Facility. Shion set aside the puppy that had crawled into his lap in a determined bid to nip off Shion’s beanie, and clambered to his feet.

Nezumi’s eyes were winter grey, and Shion wondered what thoughts were playing behind them. Remorse for hiding Safu’s disappearance for so long? Regret that he and Shion were now involved in planning something so dangerous? Resignation to the task?

Or were his thoughts running along a different track entirely? To the worry he felt when he chased Shion down in the early morning, to the pain of watching him suffer nightmares at his side. To the soft brush of lips in the dark, a sweet transient distraction from the horrors of reality.

“Come on,” Nezumi said, jerking his chin toward the hotel. “They’re waiting for us.”

Shion followed him inside, along the candlelit corridors until they reached the door belonging to Inukashi. The windows in the room were tightly boarded up, so the only light when they closed the door was a single candle burning on its holder on the tabletop. The flame flickered in an imperceptible draft, throwing the grim faces of Inukashi and Rikiga into sharp relief.

“Mr. Rikiga.” Shion glanced at Nezumi then back at the older man. “You’re here too?”

“Well,” Rikiga said gruffly and shrugged his shoulders. “Seemed like you could use my help, so.” He took a swig of the whiskey bottle he had clenched in his fist. Apparently, he had brought his own refreshments to the strategy meeting.

“So magnanimous,” Nezumi laughed. “As though the promise of riches had nothing to do with your decision.”

Rikiga leered at him. “I didn’t want to take your money, remember? I only changed my mind once you told me it was a favor for Shion, not some nasty scheme of yours.”

“You changed your mind after you realized you couldn’t beat me into submission. And then you made me promise—twice, if I remember correctly—that you would get what’s owed to you when the job was done.”

“Screw you, Eve! Like you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart either?”

“Alright, enough,” Inukashi growled. “Obviously, everyone here has an ulterior motive, so stop the pissing contest. You’re hurting my ears.”

Rikiga flashed a surly look at Inukashi and took another pull of whiskey.

“Regardless of what brought you here,” Shion said, looking at everyone in turn, “thank you for deciding to help.” The room was quiet as he bowed his head low.

He had dragged everyone in this room into his personal struggle—a dangerous mission that risked all of their lives if it failed. Shion had never been so grateful and so scared in his entire life.

Nezumi tapped Shion’s elbow and gestured to the round table where Inukashi and Rikiga sat. “Sit. You’re eager to get started, right?”

He and Nezumi took their seats. The candle in the middle of the table flickered wildly for a moment before settling again into a gentle waver.

“Alright,” Inukashi started. “So according to my sources, over the past two weeks, the Correctional Facility has received just three prisoners.” They nibbled the corner of their lip and added, “All male.”

Shion straightened in his seat. “That’s not possible.” His mother said that Safu had been arrested by the Security Bureau, and the Bureau only ever took people to one place.

_ But maybe they didn’t..._ Shion’s hands curled into fists, his heart pounding at the possibility. _Maybe they just shipped Safu back to No. 5 to finish her exchange? Maybe that coat wasn’t hers after all. Maybe she’s alright._

Nezumi laid a hand over Shion’s fist under the table and gently squeezed, prising his fingers open one by one. Shion glanced at him, but he was looking at Inukashi, his expression grave.

“You’re sure?” Nezumi asked.

“Yeah. Heard it straight from my contact who handles the shipments of the prisoners’ clothes. Get this: the guys _asked _to be prisoners.” Inukashi scoffed. “I don’t know if they were kicked out of West Block or came from somewhere else, but I guess they decided that spending their lives in a two-by-four box was better than trying to survive out in the Deadlands.”

Nezumi laid Shion’s hand flat and gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze before letting go. Shion’s racing heart slowed to a more regular pace, but somehow the gesture of support filled his chest with leaden apprehension, rather than relief.

“That’s not good,” Nezumi said.

“Buncha half-wits,” Inukashi barked. “They’re gonna regret it.”

Nezumi shook his head. “If your contact has no record of Safu coming in, then that means she wasn’t brought in as a regular prisoner. She’s been erased.”

“Erased?” Shion said faintly.

Nezumi leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “In the normal procedure, when a prisoner is taken to the Correctional Facility, all their personal information is logged in the Prisoner Registration database. Photos from all sides, height, weight, fingerprints, vocal signature, iris scans, blood type. Once they have all that, you’re chipped and become an official prisoner.

“With your friend being a No. 6 citizen, they’d have most of that information already, and would have just forwarded it to the Facility’s main computer and double-checked the data for accuracy. Maybe they’d skimp on West Block prisoners, but they’d be thorough about a former No. 6 citizen. But there’s no record of Safu entering the Correctional Facility at all. They’ve erased all traces of her existence.”

“All this talk of traces and erases is a bit abstract for me.” Rikiga placed his bottle down with a noisy clunk and scrubbed a hand over his face. “What are you implying, exactly? That this girl, uh… Safu? Are you saying the Security Bureau murdered her and they’re covering it up?”

“Tactful,” Nezumi intoned. “Your journalism roots are really showing, old man.”

Nezumi and Inukashi’s glares were guns aimed at Rikiga’s ruddy face. The man hunched down in his seat.

Shion’s mind fuzzed over. He was having trouble focusing on the words and world around him. For some reason, he kept thinking of the coffee stain on Safu’s coat sleeve, the dark ragged edges of it creeping out like the spiked proteins of a virus. He stared hard at the candle flame at the center of the table, trying to ground himself.

“Safu was a valuable resource,” Shion said. His voice sounded far away to his ears, but it was at least level. “They’ve spent a lot of time and resources to raise her—and there aren’t many living people in the world either, at least according to what they tell us. It would be a huge loss for the city if they erased her.”

“Exactly,” Nezumi agreed. “It doesn’t make sense. What was her family structure like, Shion?”

“Safu’s parents are dead.” Shion swallowed, his mind already putting the pieces together and coming to the terrible conclusion. “She was raised by her grandmother. That’s her only living relative.”

“Ahah.” Nezumi’s mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. “So if Granny dies, then there’s no one to kick up a fuss if Bestie goes missing.”

Shion nodded, the gorge rising in his throat. “It’s actually worse than that. Safu is supposed to be on a two-year exchange in No. 5 right now. Even if she had people to check up on her, they wouldn’t be suspicious of her disappearance from No. 6.”

Inukashi made a sound in the back of their throat. “Your friend has shit timing, Shion.”

“I’ll say,” muttered Nezumi. “She was the perfect mark. An elite citizen with hardly any relatives, who won’t be missed for another two years.”

“But _why_ would they take her?” Shion demanded. “What are they doing with her in the Correctional Facility, and why is it a secret that she’s there?”

“I don’t know.” Nezumi tapped a finger against his bicep in thought. “What about those rumors you mentioned about something strange going on in the zone, Inukashi? Did you dig anything up on that?”

“I’ve got nothing.” Inukashi shrugged a shoulder. “My contact can tell me about stuff that happens in the Facility, but they don’t say shit about what goes on in the city. They aren’t high enough in the city hierarchy to know anything good, anyway. Top-tier gossip is probably more Mr. Alcoholic’s area.”

Rikiga paused mid-swig of his whiskey bottle. “That’s rich coming from a kid who thinks they’re a dog.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can’t get you an inside scoop on the goings-on of the Holy City yet, but I have a regular who’s due to schedule a visit in a day or two. But, look, getting that information is all well and good, but hearsay isn’t going to get us into the Correctional Facility. Do you have a plan for that, Eve? One that doesn’t get us all eaten by zombies?”

Nezumi didn’t answer. The candle flickered as the wind outside picked up. The company around the table sunk deeper into their seats and into their thoughts.

Inukashi was the first to break the silence. “The first problem is getting across the Deadlands. We gotta get past that before we even get to the Correctional Facility.”

Rikiga tipped his bottle back, only to realize it was empty already. He set it down with a pout and said, “Well, how do you do it? You get shipments and secrets from your contact there, right?”

Inukashi barked a laugh. “I don’t go over there personally, not unless I have to. I got an inbetween guy—a raider—who gets the shipments for me. Paying him is pennies compared to what I get for reselling to the market, but the guy isn’t bright enough to realize. But then you have to be dumb to be a raider.”

Nezumi arched an eyebrow. “Ignoring that comment,” he said blandly, “how does your contact travel through? He must have something fast and nondescript in order to bypass the dead and not alert the security there.”

“Not really. It’s just a regular car, I think. It’s fast enough to get by the dead near West Block, and they clear out the zombies closer to the Facility, so there’s not much threat there.”

“No one ever stops him to check his credentials?” Nezumi asked.

Inukashi shrugged. “No. I mean, he always takes a long way around to the back of the Facility and enters through the back entrance. That’s the door for the lower class No. 6 citizens who work as cleaners and sanitation for the building. The important scientists and officers treat the guys who handle their trash like literal trash. Everyone thinks he’s part of the help, so nobody gives a shit about him coming in and taking trash bags away.”

Shion knew that there was a hierarchy in No. 6—he had been a victim of it after his family had been ousted from Chronos—but he didn’t think the sense of superiority was so bad as to allow such a flaw in prison security. A tendril of annoyance and shame crept under his skin, but beneath them a tentative hope grew.

“Alright,” Nezumi considered. “So maybe we could get up to the Correctional Facility without raising too much of an alarm. The real problem is bypassing the security inside the building.”

“Just walk up to the door and ask to be let in, like those other crazies,” Rikiga said. “That worked for them easy enough.”

“There are so many things wrong with that plan that I shouldn’t have to explain them to you,” Nezumi said. “But I’m going to, since this is a fair and equitable discussion in which everyone should have the opportunity to offer an idea and be proven wrong.”

Rikiga’s lip curled in distaste, while Inukashi’s twitched in amusement.

“We can be brought in as prisoners, perhaps, but under no circumstances can Shion and I be booked as such. The minute they take a bio-sample from either of us, the system will recognize us as first-class criminals on the run and we’ll never see the light of day again.”

Inukashi and Rikiga’s faces went blank.

“Hold on, first-class criminal?” Rikiga balked.

“I mean, you? Sure,” Inukashi said, glancing at Nezumi, “but _Shion_?” They stared at him with wide-eyed wonder. “What’d you do?”

Shion fidgeted and pulled his hat lower over his head. “It’s complicated.”

“And irrelevant,” Nezumi sniffed. “The second issue with entering the Facility as prisoners is that we wouldn’t be able to move about freely. We have no idea where Safu is being held and no security clearance. Did you manage to update the schematic I gave you?”

Inukashi’s mouth twisted to the side. “I’ve got all the main points down, I think, but there’s a lot it’s still missing. Without intel from someone who works above the bottom level, I don’t think we’re gonna get anywhere. I did hear something about a new basement complex, but my contact didn’t have any details, so I don’t know if that’s a possible way in.”

“Basement complex?”

“Supposedly the elevator down there goes all the way to the top floor, and it has all this biometric stuff in place so that only specific people can use it. So I’m guessing whatever goes on down there is important, but no one knows what that is.”

Nezumi leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. His face was troubled. Shion fisted his hands in his lap again. For all Inukashi’s sleuthing, it seemed they were no closer to infiltrating the Correctional Facility. If anything, it felt like saving Safu was even more of a pipedream.

But he couldn’t give up. There had to be something, some crack they could wiggle through. One’s security was only as good as its weakest point, and Inukashi’s ability to ferret shipments out of the building was one such weakness. There had to be more.

“Nezumi,” he said. “If we get arrested as prisoners, is there any way we could avoid the data-matching and escape to find Safu? Any way at all?”

Nezumi’s gaze was impassive, but his eyes were filled with pity. “No. If they take us in as prisoners, we’ll be marched to a data collection room and scanned, poked, and prodded until they know us inside and out. Then we’ll be implanted with a V-chip. We’ll be cuffed and monitored the whole time; there will be zero chance of escaping and sneaking off.”

“No exceptions?”

“None.” Nezumi started to shake his head. “There’s no other—”

Nezumi stilled and swallowed the rest of his words. The room froze with him. No one moved or breathed. The silence was so complete that Shion could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“There is one exception,” Nezumi said quietly. He turned to face Rikiga and Inukashi across the table. “The Hunt.”

Inukashi’s hackles went up. Rikiga glared down at the table, his knuckles white around the neck of his whiskey bottle.

“The Hunt?’ Shion looked around the table. “What’s that?” His voice came out small and low, because it seemed it was that sort of topic.

No one answered.

The candle flickered wildly, throwing shadows over the grim faces around the table. A chill seeped in through the boarded windows, creeping around Shion’s ankles and caressing the hair at the nape of his neck.

The flame sputtered and went out.


	35. Parasites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: pedophilia

Fura kept his eyes glued to the horizon as he slowly edged out of the quarantine gates and entered the area known as West Block. The land was a strip of arid nothingness closest to No. 6, allowing the wall patrol a clear sight on anyone or anything approaching the Quarantine Zone for a few miles out, but after a twenty-minute drive, the road forked and civilization loomed. To the right, the Correctional Facility. To the left, the slums of West Block. Fura made the left, as he always did, and crept down the path slowly, using only his low beams.

Fura knew the creatures that roamed this place were attracted by sound not sight, so he could use the high beams and drive faster if he wanted, but a career in government had taught him to err on the side of caution. Fura considered the slow crawl toward the town as a part of the monthly ritual.

Through the blackened windshield, Fura’s dark, dull eyes drank in the sight of boarded-up hovels and the huddled bodies against them. A child, dirt-smeared and skeleton thin, paused in its meager amusement of scratching at the dirt with a stick to watch the car roll over the dusty road. They squinted in the headlights, the harsh light bringing every sharp angle of their body into startling attention for a moment before Fura turned down another road and entered the main slum.

He performed a compulsory sweep of the area before him as he bumped along the uneven path, but he wasn’t too worried about the car being set upon by a horde of the stricken. He had traveled back and forth between Quarantine Zone No. 6 and West Block many times over the last year, and never once had he seen an infected person, let alone been attacked by one. The world outside the wall might be a sordid, disease-ridden cesspool, but the wall patrol did their job well. If the place looked like it was about to be overrun, the Security Bureau put together a Clean-up, and all was set to rights again.

Still, a low caliber handgun lay on the passenger seat, just in case today decided to play out differently. Technically, the Salvation Edict forbade citizens from owning a firearm of any kind, but special allowances were given to high officials like himself who had reason to travel outside of the quarantine zone for business.

Nearer the outskirts of the town, the houses were far apart and larger, but once one entered West Block proper, the buildings grew one on top of the other in faded, crooked rows, like mossy teeth in a stripped back skull. Dark unidentifiable stains lined the edges of the slush-streaked street like varicose veins. Fura’s gaze traced the outlines of the crumpled heaps in the doorways, and it lingered over the figures of the scantily clad whores who shivered in the alleys. Their sunken eyes watched his cruiser pass with a combination of envy and disgust.

The whole town was a rotting corpse, writhing with vermin and maggots. The degeneracy of it made Fura’s skin crawl, even as his trousers grew tight across his hips. No. 6 was a place of rigid rules and vanilla living, and West Block was its heady shadow. This was a place for committing sins that one could only stomach under the cloak of night, under the assurance of anonymity and the confidence that once he was fully sated, he could drive back through the gates of No. 6 and slip into bed beside his wife, safe and sound and fresh to face a new day.

Of course, Fura never would have dared to venture outside the wall if not for his job on the Central Administration Board. The Board controlled and processed all the information for the city: education reports, citizen biometrics and lifestyle data, broadcast permissions, travel records. Fura occupied the leadership position on his team, which made him one of the most influential members of No. 6. He was top three, at least, under the Mayor and the Head of the Security Bureau.

He personally saw to it that the security in Quarantine Zone No. 6 was tight. The zone was only paradise as long as the government ensured that no infected or otherwise dangerous entities entered the sanctity of its walls. Persons were not permitted to leave the city without submitting a travel form stating to where they were traveling and for what reason, and these were typically only approved if the reason for travel was urgent. After the traveler’s return, they must submit to a full medical check up and possible quarantine if the results showed anything suspect.

Fura handled all the travel records for the entire city. It took less than a minute for him to alter his personal record and erase all evidence that he had ventured outside the zone for a late night tryst. He had a doctor on payroll who agreed to give him the return check ups privately. He wasn’t stupid; he was following protocol, just off the record.

Sometimes he wondered whether it was worth all the risk, though. He often sat behind his desk late into the hours of night, imagining all the ways these trips could go wrong. One of the guards at the gate he paid could betray him to the Bureau; he could be attacked by the locals in a fit of envious rage; his wife could find the lipstick on his lapel one night, and she could take their young son with her in the divorce; one of the women he indulged in could have the infection—or  _ an  _ infection, which was just as bad.

But no. The women he had procured for him were always clean. His contact in West Block made sure of that. If he didn’t, the man wouldn’t have a business, and Fura didn’t think a man like that could go back to living like a scavenger. Once you had a taste for the finer things in life, you would do whatever it took to keep them within your grasp. He had become addicted to the game, same as Fura.

He pulled up to the abandoned warehouse that served as their meeting spot and cut the ignition, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Fura could make out very little in the dim light, and the window was fogging from the temperature difference between the warm car and the frigid night. He swiped a swath of condensation away with the sleeve of his cashmere coat and peered out, searching the shadows for his contact. In the distance, he could make out the pitiful structure that the inhabitants had erected as a barrier between them and the Deadlands. Their ramshackle “wall” looked as though a strong wind could blow it over. Fura couldn’t believe the place hadn’t been overrun by now.

“Where are you?” Fura muttered. He checked his watch. The man was already four minutes late. He was never late.

Fura pulled his coat closer about his shoulders and continued searching the dark for familiar silhouettes.  _ If he’s not here by ten after, I’ll leave _ .

The minutes rolled by and the night around him remained still. Fura bit his lip, peeling small slivers of skin from it with his teeth. It was a nervous habit he’d had since his youth. His wife thought it was disgusting and bought all these different terrible tasting chapsticks to train him out of the practice, but it never worked. Fura didn’t want it to work; he liked the taste of blood on his lips. It excited him. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. 

No. 6 was such a pristine place. Everything was so structured, there was a right way and wrong way of doing everything. Information gathering, broadcasts, social interactions, sex. His wife was a tame woman, the kind of woman No. 6 bred: pretty, socially adept, straightlaced. Boring. She didn’t understand what he wanted and he couldn’t tell her, because he knew what she would say.  _ Disgusting _ .

West Block was the only place he could indulge in his deepest desires, and he never had to worry about suffering the consequences. He could be as rough or as deviant as he wanted, and the women he paid for didn’t bat an eye. His contact had selected them that way, he supposed. He had a good eye for beautiful women and adaptable temperaments. Though, recently his selections had been less than impressive. Serviceable, but nothing to gawk at.

Maybe Fura was becoming jaded. He worried about what he would do if these trips stopped being exciting. Right now they were the only thing that made his blood sing anymore.

It was ten past already. Fura squirmed in his seat. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.  _ Five more minutes _ , he decided. If his contact still hadn’t shown up by then, he swore he would drive back the way he came.

A figure emerged from the shadows. Fura thought he recognized the shape, but he checked that the locks on the doors were engaged, just in case.

His contact tapped the driver side window and smiled, his breath fogging up the glass. Fura sneered and lowered the window.

“You’re late,” he growled.

“Ah, yes. I’m very sorry about that, Fura-sama. I was delayed,” the man said, still smiling slightly. “A bit of trouble, but nothing for you to worry about.”

His mustache had been trimmed recently, but Fura could see it was a little shorter on one side than the other. A tendril of distaste curled in his belly, but it was superseded by paranoia.

“What kind of trouble?” he asked. His eyes swept over the silent darkness around them.

“It’s nothing, really,” the man repeated. “It’s… Well, the delay actually had to do with our plans tonight. I’ve set up a rare bit of entertainment for you. I think you’re going to be very pleased.” His smile grew a few degrees and a low, lewd chuckle rumbled in his throat.

Fura’s heart sped at the insinuation, and he had to swallow down an answering chuckle before it pushed past his lips. He didn’t want to make this man think they were on the same level.

He licked his raw, chapped lips. “Is she a real beauty? The last one you gave me was only so-so.”

“This one’s different from the other girls I’ve introduced to you. She’s in a league of her own. I’ll give you the details on the way over.”

Fura nodded, his interest piqued. He unlocked the car door and stepped out to climb into the passenger seat, sliding the gun into his inner coat pocket, while the man slipped into the driver’s. Fura didn’t particularly like other people driving his car, but the man knew the town, and it was easier to let him chauffeur them to the women. It certainly increased the anticipation of the encounters.

The man pulled away from the warehouse and took the car down a rocky path. Fura enjoyed the bumps and jolts of the tires crunching over the ground for a minute—it was so different from the smooth, micromanaged streets of No. 6—before returning to the matter at hand.

“Tell me about her.”

“Oh, well,” the man started, his voice coloring warmly, “she’s just as you like them, Fura-sama. Thin, long dark hair, and young.” He spared a second to look away from the road and raise his eyebrows meaningfully at Fura.

“How young?”

“I can’t be sure, exactly. You know how things are out here. But  _ very  _ young. Young enough that this…. Well, I’ll be straight with you. She’s never done this before. In fact, she doesn’t have any experience with men at all.”

Fura laced his fingers together over his groin. “That is different,” he breathed.

The man gave a short laugh. “I thought you might like that. She’s also got the coloring of the Southernlands in her. Tanned. I remember you like them a little darker?”

Fura nodded. His pulse fluttered against his neck like a trapped insect. He was anxious to meet this new girl. His excitement dipped a little, though, when he noticed the car was slowing, pulling up to a monolith of a building.

“Where are we? This isn’t where we usually go.” He squinted up at the cool stone illuminated by the headlights.

The man crept to a stop and put the car in park. “That’s the other reason this girl is different. She refused to agree unless we met her at her place.” He gestured to the building. “She’s young and nervous, so I let her have her way. She lives in that hotel with her family.”

“Hotel?” Fura tilted his head curiously and studied the massive structure. It must have been beautiful in its heyday. “Wait,” he said, turning back to the man. “Her family?”

The man cut the ignition and held up a hand. “Don’t worry, they’re out. It’ll just be you and the girl tonight. Oh, and the dogs.”

“Dogs?”

“Yeah, she has a whole pack of them. Bit of a hoarder, if you ask me, but I’m not here to judge. Anyway, it’s fine; they’re all well behaved. They won’t bother you. You ready?” The man flashed a smile and stepped out of the car.

The cold night air nipped at Fura’s exposed ankles as they scaled the crumbling steps into the building. The lobby of the defunct hotel was cavernous and pitch black. The man pulled out a candle and lit it so they could traverse over the debris-strewn floor without twisting an ankle, but Fura still felt the shadows pressing in on him like hungry ghosts.

He wrinkled his nose. “There’s a smell in here….”

“That would be the dogs,” the man confirmed. “They’re all around this room. Once your eyes adjust, you’ll be able to see them. But don’t worry, they won’t bark or bite you. They’re well trained.”

Fura could make out the yellow flashes of the dogs’ eyes as they headed up a staircase and down a hall, but the animals didn’t move, and most didn’t even raise their heads as they passed by. The man stopped in front of a door.

“Here we are,” he said, his smile ghoulish with the candle’s underlighting. “She’s just inside.” He opened the door and ushered Fura in.

The room was sparse. The windows were boarded up tight so that nothing could breach the hotel, but that also meant that no light could break through either. The only illumination came from the man’s candle and another candle burning on the table in the middle of the room. The low light revealed a shoddy partition in the corner, and past that was a pitiful cot, on top of which sat a small girl. She had a blanket wrapped tightly around her, obscuring her head, but Fura could see her tanned legs poking out. They were thin, but had the potential to be shapely if she had the opportunity for the right diet.

“Hello,” Fura said, sitting himself beside the girl. “You’re a pretty little thing.”

The girl turned her head into her opposite shoulder as Fura tried to get a better look at her face. Her body sang with tension, her chapped knuckles curled into tight fists on her lap. Fura smiled at her reluctance, imagining how he would draw her out and into his arms by the end of the night.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’ll be gentle.”

He traced his fingers over the side of her exposed neck, then dropped his hand to her knee as he leaned in to brush his lips over her thrumming pulse. She smelled like the hotel lobby, like the thick musk of wild dogs. It wasn’t a pleasant scent, but desire pooled between his legs all the same. He pressed his nose into the hair behind her ear, breathing in the smell and marveling at its novelty.

“Well,” the man said from across the room. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Call me when you’re done.”

Fura’s brow furrowed. His hand stopped its slow slide up the girl’s thigh and he pulled back and frowned as the man headed for the door. “Wait. What about your payment?”

The man froze. “Oh. Right, the payment,” he mumbled as he turned back to face Fura. “I trust you to give it to me when you’re done. You looked eager to get started, is all.”

Fura narrowed his eyes. Something wasn’t right. The man always made him pay upfront. Money was the whole reason he was in this dirty business in the first place. There was no way he had just forgotten about it. More red flags started popping up in Fura’s head.

The man had been late, they were in a place they’d never been before…. The hairs on the back of Fura’s neck prickled.

Then the girl slapped his hand off her thigh and jumped up, shouting expletives.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she shrieked. “You were supposed to come out already! You  _ asshole _ !”

Fura flinched, but soon realized that she wasn’t shouting at him—she was addressing the far corner of the room—and he also realized that ‘girl’ might not be the right term. The child before him had long hair, but their face was young and androgenous, so he wasn’t sure anymore whether they were what he had been led to think.

“What’s going on?” Fura demanded. He stood up and traded glances between the man and the furious child.

“Uh, well…” The man’s eyes darted sideways. “Okay, so, maybe I misled you a little. I don’t know their age or their gender. You know, West Block.” He shrugged sheepishly as though that covered everything. “But I figured you wouldn’t mind either way. I thought maybe you liked all kids, you know?”

The child pulled the blanket tight around their shoulders and burned a hole into the far wall, muttering the f-word over and over with intermittent growls of “asshole” and “prick.”

Something was seriously wrong. Fura reached into his inner coat pocket and headed for the door. “I’m leaving.”

The man stepped into his path with his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Aw, no. Don’t—”

Fura pulled out the pistol and pointed it at the man’s face. “Get out of my way! I swear to god I’ll shoot you!”

He meant it. He wouldn’t hesitate and he wouldn’t feel bad. These people weren’t like him. They were hardly even human. The inhabitants of West Block had joined the ranks of the dead when the wall went up between them and the chosen. They were parasites living on borrowed time. Killing one would be doing the world a service.

“Now there,” purred a voice from behind him. Fura didn’t have time to look before a hand clapped over his mouth and his pistol arm wrenched down and behind him. “That’s no way to treat your host now, is it? Let’s take it easy.”

Fura didn’t know whether it was a man or a woman speaking, but it was quite possibly the loveliest, most soothing voice he had ever heard. He relaxed in the person’s hold. The moment he did, the person gripped his jaw hard, swept his legs out from beneath him, and slammed his head down against the wooden floorboards. Fura’s consciousness snuffed out like a candle.


	36. Demon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit. This chapter was a beast to write and is consequentially longer.
> 
> I've been feeling burnt out lately, and will be taking a break from posting for a bit to recharge and restock my chapters. Thanks for the support, and hope you enjoy!

“Get out of my way! I swear to god I’ll shoot you!”

Shion’s heart jumped as the man pulled a sleek revolver from his coat and pointed it at Rikiga. His own hand brushed his hip holster, but before a thought fully formed, Nezumi had stepped out and brought the man under control. Then Nezumi kicked out the man’s legs and shoved him down head first. His skull made an audible crack when it connected with the floorboards. Shion flinched. Having been on the receiving end of Nezumi’s takedowns several times, he felt an empathetic throb at the back of his head and between his shoulder blades.

“Well, that was easy,” Nezumi said cheerily.

“Speak for yourself,” Rikiga grumbled, eyeing the gun held limply in the unconscious man’s grip.

“You fucking prick!” Inukashi spat. They marched up to Nezumi, their face twisted into a rictus of fury. “Where were you, huh? You were supposed to come out the minute that pedo cosied up to me!” Inukashi gave him a hard shove.

Nezumi stumbled back a step, but the mild amusement on his face didn’t falter. “Calm down. So I was a few minutes late. Guess I got stage fright,” he said with a shrug. “I’m only a third-rate actor, after all. Real life treachery is so much scarier than the scripted occurrences.”

“You are such a liar! You manipulative pig bastard! I’m never gonna trust you again. Next time you come to me for a job, I’m going to shoot you in the dick and kick you down the stairs!”

Nezumi raised an eyebrow. “Colorful.”

“I will never forgive you!” Inukashi snarled. They hugged the threadbare blanket tighter about their shaking shoulders. The fabric hissed as some of the threads stretched and snapped. “Next time you be the fucking jailbait and I’ll just sit back and watch while a disgusting old man licks and fondles you!”

“Inukashi.” Shion touched them on the shoulder, and they whirled on him.

“And  _ you _ ! Where the hell were you? You coulda came out and helped me, but you didn’t do anything!”

Shion curled his hand against his chest. He had planned on bursting out from behind the partition the minute the man laid his hands on Inukashi—that had been the plan, to come out once their mark had sat down on the bed—but Nezumi had gripped his forearm and cautioned him to wait. Nezumi had looked so serious that Shion obeyed and continued to watch quietly, even though the man’s actions and Inukashi’s obvious discomfort made his insides squirm.

“I’m sorry,” Shion murmured.

Inukashi grit their teeth and turned their face aside.

Nezumi crouched down and pulled the gun from the man’s grip. “Breaking all sorts of rules, this one. Aren’t these illegal in the Holy City?” He waggled it at Shion with a grim smile.

“The officials bring handguns with them in case of zombie attack,” Rikiga volunteered.

Nezumi slid the pistol’s chamber open and snorted. “Well, this guy would be dead on the spot if he ever ran into one. This caliber can kill humans just fine, but on the undead it’d be about as effective as shooting a BB gun while shouting, ‘Come and get me!’ ” He rooted around in the man’s coat pockets and pulled out a small purse. Nezumi poured the contents into his palm and whistled. “Five gold coins? You really are living large, aren’t you, old man?”

“That’s more than the usual rate,” Rikiga said defensively. “I told him I was preparing a special girl for him this time, so the fee would be higher.”

“Here.” Nezumi rose and tossed a coin at Inukashi. “You can buy hot water and a bucketload of soap to wash the stench of pervert off you.”

Inukashi fumbled the coin and had to scramble after it as it rolled across the floor. “You’re such an asshole.” Their voice wavered, and their fingers trembled as they clawed the coin from the floor.

_ They were really scared.  _ Shion swallowed, shame snagging in his gut like a mass of barbed wire. Of course Inukashi was. A strange, disgusting older man had touched them without their consent, and he just stood by and let it happen.

Inukashi was only a child. They were snarky and self-possessed, with a booming business, expert marksmanship, and a pack of loyal dogs at their command, so it was easy to forget that they were younger than Shion. Inukashi shouldn’t have been subjected to that man’s perverse appetite. The fear, and revulsion, and humiliation must have been unbearable. He should have protected Inukashi. It was his fault that they had been put in this position in the first place.

“Inukashi,” Shion said quietly, moving to their side. He reached out a hand, but stopped himself before touching them again; he didn’t want Inukashi to suffer further unwanted contact. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that happen to you. I should have come out immediately. I’m really sorry.”

Inukashi’s eyes shone, and the corners of their mouth trembled in a grimace that barely held the tears at bay. “I hate you. I hate all of you.”

Shion nodded. “I know….”

Inukashi sunk their teeth into their lower lip. “It felt so... _ disgusting _ . I wanted to die, or scream…. But I stayed quiet as long as I could. Because that was  _ the plan _ .” Inukashi shuffled forward and pushed their head into his chest. Shion placed his hands gently on their shoulders. “I kept wondering where you guys were, but I tried to do my part. I held it in as long as I could.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Shion said again.

“Inukashi.”

Inukashi pulled their head back and looked over at Nezumi. He tossed another coin and they snatched it out of the air. The blanket slithered off their shoulders and laid in a heap at Shion’s feet.

“The rest of your share,” Nezumi said. “Reparations for your trauma.”

“You’re a cold bastard,” Inukashi seethed.

Nezumi thrust the last three coins at Rikiga, but the man didn’t reach out to take them. He looked beyond Nezumi to the unconscious No. 6 official.

“What’s wrong?” Nezumi asked. “You’ve done worse things for less.”

“Yeah, well…” Rikiga cleared his throat. “I’ve done some pretty terrible things, but I wouldn’t call any of them dangerous. Not like this. What we’re about to do...there’s no going back from it.”

“Exactly. The plan’s already in motion, so it’s too late to have cold feet.” Nezumi glanced between Inukashi and Rikiga and made a sound of disbelieving exhaustion. “You two are trying my last nerve tonight. Everything you’ve done, all the seedy deals and illicit activity, and  _ this _ is what shakes you?”

Nezumi looked upon the slack face of the No. 6 official with deadly vitriol. Shion had seen him look toward the quarantine zone with the same burning hatred before, but there was a hard, unfeeling wall between him and the objects of his resentment. Seeing Nezumi direct the frigid fire of his hostility upon a living human made Shion’s skin prickle.

“Does No. 6 have that tight a hold on you?” Nezumi asked the room. “Shall we quit now, then? Rikiga, you can drive the man back to the quarantine gate like a good chauffeur, give him and each of the guards there a complimentary bottle of whiskey, maybe a discount for a visit with your ladies to make amends. I’m sure they’d be happy to forgive this small transgression. Or, Inukashi, maybe you’d like to give the gentleman a free night here at the hotel in gratitude for his gentle affections. I’m sure he’d be pleased as punch.”

Rikiga and Inukashi bristled. Shion stepped forward and murmured Nezumi’s name. Nezumi’s cool eyes fell on him. Shion stood still and tall under his leer, ready to be dressed down and mocked like the rest of them for his interference; he knew how much Nezumi enjoyed throwing his pedigree in his face.

Nezumi slapped the three gold coins into Rikiga’s palm and curled the man’s fingers over them. “Buy some alcohol to numb your moral dilemma; it’s seemed to work well enough these last few years.” He pressed Rikiga’s fist against the man’s chest, leaning in until he was close enough to whisper in his ear. It looked almost affectionate, but the low, dark quality of his voice betrayed the threat. “It’s too late to wriggle out of this one, old man. We each have our roles to play. At least you can rest easy now that yours is over for tonight.”

Nezumi stepped back. Rikiga’s shoulders slumped. He slipped the hand with the coins into his pocket, and the hand came back out with a flask. Shion instantly recognized the scent of whiskey, Rikiga’s beverage of choice.

“I suppose you’re right,” Rikiga muttered after taking a hardy sip. He stared down at Fura’s body, his mustache shifting from side to side as he sucked his teeth. “There’s no taking back what we’ve done.”

“Exactly,” Nezumi said, smiling. “We’re bound to each other from now until this job’s over. The only way out before that is death.”

“So you’ll kill me before you let me leave, that it?”

Nezumi shrugged a shoulder. “If I have to. We can’t afford any squeaky wheels on this one.”

Inukashi huffed and crossed their arms over their chest. “We’ve sold our souls to the devil, old man.” They eyed Nezumi with the usual combination of caution and distaste.

Shion fisted his hands at his sides. Nezumi didn’t deserve their censure. This wasn’t his fault. It was Shion’s.

_ If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t be endangering ourselves like this. _ Nezumi was only protecting him the way he’d always done, taking everything onto himself with a guarded smile and a derisive gleam in his eye.

“Don’t blame him,” Shion said quietly.

“Hm?” Inukashi glanced at him. “You say something?”

“Nezumi isn’t a devil, he’s—”

Shion met Nezumi’s eyes and the words stuck in his throat. His face was shadowy in the low light, but Shion could see the gray luster of Nezumi’s eyes perfectly. They were cold and impartial, a storm that lingered overhead, ominous and promising, but never giving warning before it broke— _ if _ it broke. His eyes were beautiful in the same way as nature: untamed, unapologetic, and unknowable. But Shion felt like he understood Nezumi, and had since the first time their eyes met that fateful night four years ago.

Nezumi lowered his gaze and murmured, “I am the spirit that denies. Yes, I am all things which you call Sin, Destruction, or Evil.”

Inukashi cocked an eyebrow and glanced between Shion and Nezumi. “What’s that? Some kind of code?”

“Mephistopheles. He’s a character from  _ Faust _ . He’s—a demon.”

Inukashi snorted. “Well, there we go. He admits he’s a demon.”

“He’s not—”

The man on the ground groaned and the room went instantly silent.

“Showtime,” said Nezumi. He pulled out his leather gloves and slipped them on. “Inukashi, I’ll let you have the honor of tying him up. Make it as tight as you want.”

Inukashi twisted their mouth to the side, but helped Nezumi haul Fura up into a sitting position against the bed. Shion wondered how they could bear to touch the man, but then he noticed the violence with which Inukashi bound the man’s wrists. The rope bit into the flesh as deeply as it could without completely cutting off circulation.

It wasn’t long before Fura came to full consciousness. The man’s gaze roved around the room, unfocused and confused at first, but then he noticed his hands. “What the hell?” he muttered.

Nezumi knelt down, and Fura’s eyes zeroed in on him. His eyebrows went up and his lips pulled back in a slow smile.

“Damn,” Fura breathed. “Who are  _ you _ ? Rikiga, you were holding out on me. This one’s better than all the others put together.”

“You like me?” Nezumi said sweetly. “I’d be happy to spend the night with you,” he traced a leather clad finger along the man’s jawline, “but it’s gonna cost you a lot more than five gold.”

Fura pursed his lips and glanced between Nezumi and Rikiga. “It’s always more with your kind. How much do you cost?”

“It’s not money I’m after, but information.”

Fura’s expression dropped. He tried to jerk away from Nezumi’s touch, but Nezumi gripped his jaw and kept him in place.

“Where are you going?” Nezumi chuckled. “We’ve only just begun.”

“If you think I'm going to tell you anything, you’re an idiot,” Fura growled. “I’m not obligated to speak to filth like you. Let me go this instant. I could have you all killed for treating me in this barbaric manner.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” the man spat. “And I’d be doing the world a service if I did. Your kind is nothing but a blight on the earth. No better than vermin or maggots. The only reason we let scum like you live is to keep a buffer between us and the stricken.”

Nezumi slapped Fura across the face. The man lurched sideways and hit the floor. Nezumi yanked Fura upright by a fistful of his thinning hair and struck the opposite cheek. Then the other cheek again. A fourth time. A fifth time.

Bile pressed against the back of Shion’s throat, but he couldn’t make himself move or cry out for it to stop. Nezumi’s expression was a blank mask as he continued to abuse the man. Shion hated it. It wasn’t right.

_ Stop. No more. _

“Nezumi,” Shion managed, but his voice was so small.

“Your boyfriend doesn’t look so kind now, does he?” said Inukashi. Shion turned helplessly to them and Inukashi’s face darkened. “You said that once. That Nezumi is kind. Like everybody else who’s known him for years has it all wrong and you’re the only one with the truth. But it’s you who’s got it wrong, Shion. That right there? That’s the true Nezumi.”

Blood spotted on Fura’s lips. He must have cut the inside of his mouth. Fura groaned and made a gurgling noise, pitching forward like he was going to throw up.

Nezumi’s hand clamped over Fura’s mouth so fast, the man’s head bumped against the bed’s footboard.

“That won’t do, Fura-sama,” Nezumi chided. “You know very well that West Block bitches don’t spit. Swallow.” He tightened his grip around Fura’s mouth, tilting the man’s head back. Tears beaded in the corners of Fura’s eyes. His throat contracted.

Nezumi released the man’s mouth and smiled. “‘Atta boy.” He gave Fura’s scarlet cheek a light tap. The man flinched badly, bumping his head against the footboard again.

“Please,” Fura gasped. “No more. Please.”

“Feel like talking to us vermin now?”

“I… I don’t know anything.”

“How can you be sure? I haven’t asked you any questions yet.”

“Everything… It’s processed by computers… There’s a lot I don’t know. I don’t know if I can...give what you want.”

Shion believed him. No. 6 was a secretive place, and heavily siloed. He doubted that even someone as high up in the ranks as Fura knew everything that went on in the city, and the Correctional Facility was about as classified as it got.

“Try for me,” Nezumi said. “What’s the new facility they’ve built beneath the Correctional Facility?”

“I don’t know.”

“Which Bureau is funding it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“A girl—an elite from Chronos—was arrested a week ago by the Security Bureau and taken to the Correctional Facility. What was done with her? Does it have to do with whatever they’ve built in the Facility?”

“I don’t know…”

“What about the rumors of an outbreak in No. 6? Can you confirm the truth of them, or from where they originated?”

“I-I… I don’t…”

Nezumi narrowed his eyes. Fura’s shoulders bunched, as if anticipating another slap.

“Please. I don’t know anything. I would tell you if I did, I swear.” Fura’s voice was thick from fear and swelling. He trembled and twisted his wrists in the chafing ropes. “Let me go. I promise, if you do, I’ll forget this happened. I won’t tell anyone about it. Just let me go.”

Nezumi settled back on his heels. “Alright. I’ll let you have your way.”

Fura perked up. The tightness in Shion’s chest eased. It was terrible that they didn’t get anything out of this, but at least Nezumi was finished acting like the bad guy. They’d find another way to get the information they needed. He wouldn’t give up on Safu.

“Rikiga,” said Nezumi, “give me a hand, would you?”

“You said my role was over.”

“All I’m asking is for you to lend your customer some support. It’s within your job description.”

Rikiga’s face shuttered. He tipped his flask back and chugged whatever was left, and when he had finished, he sighed and came over. Nezumi and Rikiga helped Fura to his feet, but instead of leading him to the door, they pulled him toward the boarded window. At some unspoken signal, Inukashi left Shion’s side and crossed the room to remove the bottom few boards from the window. The cool night air drifted in and the ground two storeys below yawned like a gaping black maw.

Fura dug his heels into the floorboards when he realized he was not being released, but his scrabbling and pleas had little effect.

“Please, no,” Fura gasped. “Just let me go! I won’t tell anyone!”

“Relax,” Nezumi said, turning Fura and pressing him up against the open window frame. “I’ll let you go, I promise. You and I are just going to chat for a little longer before then.” The smile he aimed at the terrified man was pure malice.

“Hold tight,” Nezumi told Rikiga. “We don’t want to let him go before he has a chance to remember something useful.”

They hefted Fura up and half out of the window. The man shrieked and snatched at the fabric of Rikiga’s shirt with his bound hands.

“I wouldn’t scream so loud if I were you,” Nezumi warned. “Zombies like screaming almost as much as they like blood, so I’d keep your mouth shut on both accounts. Unless, of course, you’d like to cut the crap and answer my questions.”

“Please,” Fura squealed. “Oh God,  _ please! _ ”

“I think he just pissed himself….” Inukashi moved away from the window and wrinkled their nose.

“That’s enough.” Shion stepped forward and grasped Nezumi’s elbow with one hand and Fura’s pant leg in the other. “Stop,” he said. “No more. This is torture, Nezumi.”

“Stay out of this, Shion.”

“This isn’t the way. Pull him back inside.” Shion turned to Rikiga. “Don’t do this. You know it’s not the right way.”

Rikiga gnawed his lip, but his eyes were drawn away to Nezumi. Clearly, he would only obey him. Shion looked at Inukashi, but they simply stared back at him, their face almost as perfectly dispassionate as Nezumi’s. Fura’s gibbering and pleas continued. He grasped desperately at the collar of Rikiga’s shirt, his fingers like pale claws.

Shion swiveled his attention again. “Nezumi,” he hissed, tugging on his arm and Fura’s leg. “ _ Enough _ . Pull him back inside.”

Nezumi’s jaw shifted. His fingers flexed in their grips on Fura’s shirt collar and belt, and for a heart-pounding moment, Shion thought he might lose his hold and they’d have to lurch forward to catch the man before he pitched out the window.

But then Nezumi leaned back and began dragging Fura back through. Rikiga gave an audible sigh of relief and followed suit. They let Fura slide to the ground. He was shivering and sobbing, tears and spit streaked down the sides of his face and into his hairline.

Nezumi snatched Shion by the front of his coat and pulled him toward the side of the room. “What the fuck? Do you want to get answers out of this guy or not?”

“Not like that. It isn’t right.”

“Are you kidding me? Who cares about the moral high ground—?”

“No, it isn’t right  _ for you _ ! I don’t like seeing you that way, Nezumi! It isn’t you.”

Nezumi went quiet. The sliver in his irises flickered and swirled like liquid mercury. “Not me?”

“It’s not. I know it’s not.” Shion fisted his hands at his sides. His muscles tensed so hard his whole body ached. Even his eyes and throat throbbed.

_ I’m being such a hypocrite. _

Everyone was here because of him. Nezumi was harassing this man because of him, because he was trying to get information to help Safu. And yet here Shion was yelling at him for trying his best. Who was he to criticize Nezumi’s methods when he had done nothing but stand by and watch all night? Inukashi, Rikiga, and Nezumi were elbow-deep in the plan they had all agreed upon while Shion kept his hands clean and his eyes averted. He had no right to condemn their actions when he was the coward who made others take care of his problems for him.

_ This is all my fault. _

Selfish, self-righteous, cowardly. That’s what Shion was. Self-hatred curled in Shion’s stomach.

But he couldn’t help it. He would be all these things and more if it meant he wouldn’t have to see Nezumi pervert himself in his name.

“Ever since you brought me here, you’ve told me to open my eyes and see the world for what it truly is. I’m not the best at it, but what I do know is that isn’t you.” He flung his hand at the window, where Fura sat curled up and sobbing like a child. “You aren’t ruthless or cold. You don’t take pleasure in people’s pain. You’ve always taught me to protect the things I care about, to think for myself and speak my mind. To cherish every moment like it’s the most precious thing in the world. That’s who you are. That’s what you stand for. So please, stop acting like you’re someone different. Don’t lie for me.”

The thunder in Nezumi’s face didn’t dissipate. If anything, more dark clouds were building behind his eyes.

“Eve,” Rikiga sighed. “Shion’s right, this way isn’t going to work. Fura’s a pampered No. 6 elite; fear shuts them down completely, and even the smallest amount of pain is like setting off a bomb in their brain. If we rough him up too much, he’s more likely to have a heart attack than remember anything useful.”

Nezumi’s cool gaze flicked to Rikiga, then down at Fura, still bawling and reeking of sweat and urine. He met Shion’s eyes again and held his stare as he stripped the leather gloves from his hands one at a time.

“All yours,” he murmured, stepping back and lifting a pale palm toward Fura like a maitre de showing a VIP client to their table.

Shion knelt before the sniveling elite. “Fura-san? I’m sorry about scaring you. It’s just that the girl the Security Bureau apprehended is my friend, and she’s very precious to me. I’ll do whatever it takes to save her. So, please, we need information from you.”

Fura whimpered and curled more tightly into himself. Shion worried his lip. He would get nothing from the man until he had calmed down. Shion glanced down at the man’s wrists. They were raw from struggling against the ropes, almost to the point of bleeding. Shion tried to undo the knots, but Inukashi had tied them tight and he couldn’t get his fingers into them.

“Nezumi, can I borrow your knife?” Shion held a hand out to him, still picking at the thickest part of the bonds with his nails in a vain attempt to loosen the rope.

Shion’s pulse jumped when he felt the cool weight of the knife handle in his palm a moment later. He had asked for it, but some part of him was shocked to find it given over so freely. The knife felt strange and wrong in his hand, as though it were sentient and displeased to be separated from its master.

Shion sawed through the rope around Fura’s wrists and placed the knife down to carefully peel the cords away from Fura’s skin.

The man hissed. “It hurts!”

“I’m sorry, I know.” Shion reached for the knife again to return it, but the floor beside him was bare; somehow Nezumi had already retrieved it.

“I’ll have scars forever,” Fura warbled. “What will I tell my wife?”

Shion shushed him. “It won’t scar, your wrists are going to be fine. I’ll do what I can to treat the skin for you. Rikiga-san, can you bring him some water? The stream is just around back.”

“Uh…” Rikiga blinked and glanced around the room, but when no one contradicted Shion’s request, his shoulders dropped in relief. “Sure. I’ll be right back.” His footsteps were quick and quiet as he went out into the hall, as though he couldn’t wait to escape.

“Inukashi, do you have any spare pants Fura-san could change into?”

Inukashi cocked an eyebrow, but then shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll check if any customers left something behind.”

And then it was just Shion, Nezumi, and Fura in the room.

Nezumi stayed leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, simply watching. Shion ignored his eyes boring into the side of his face and spoke gently to Fura.

“We’re going to get you clean clothes and some fresh water to wash your mouth out, okay? You’ll feel better really soon, Fura-san. But while we wait, can you try to answer a few questions? You really don’t know what the facility they’re building in the Correctional Facility is?”

Fura sniffled and finally dragged his bloodshot eyes up to Shion’s. “I—I work in the Central Administration Bureau. I don’t know about other bureaus’ business. If I knew, I would tell you. I swear.”

“I believe you. So then it’s classified information?”

Fura nodded. “It’s directly under the Mayor. There’s...a dedicated team. I don’t know who they are or what they work on. I don’t have that kind of clearance.”

“Okay. That’s more helpful than you think, Fura-san. You work in the Central Administration Bureau, though, so the budget for the project would have come across your desk, right? And there would have been an assembly meeting to approve it?”

“There… There was.... But the request came straight from the Mayor.” Fura swiped at his wet face and shook his head. “We didn’t v-vote. If the Mayor wants it, it’s already approved. He just asks for the funds after the fact.”

So then the new facility was already sanctioned and built by the time the project was even known to those outside it. Top-secret indeed.

Inukashi slunk back into the room with a pair of faded brown pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Neither appeared to be high quality or completely clean, but they were in good condition, and, most importantly, dry. Inukashi dropped the clothing at Shion’s side then flopped down on the bed to watch from higher ground.

Rikiga was only seconds behind with a pail of water. The contents were clear and cold and Shion’s throat ached just looking at it. The water from the stream out back was the sweetest he’d ever tasted. He offered the pail to Fura. The man seemed suspicious, but the thirst and desire to cleanse his mouth of the taste of blood and spit won out. He drank deeply of the water, spilling a bit out of the corners of his mouth.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Shion said, smiling gently.

“Hey, Shion. Here.” Rikiga held out a small bottle of gin and a roll of gauze. “I thought you might need these, so….” He nodded at Fura’s wrists and Shion nodded gratefully back.

Fura’s skin wasn’t bleeding, but the abrasions were a tattered, angry red. “Fura-san,” Shion said, “I’m going to disinfect the skin with this. It’s going to sting.”

He soaked the gauze in gin and pasted the pieces over the man’s wrists. Fura sucked in a noisy breath through his teeth, but to his credit, he didn’t whine or cry again. He looked up at Shion’s face, twisting his mouth back and forth.

“How old are you?”

Shion glanced up from wrapping the bandages. “Sixteen.”

“You… You’re not from here, are you?”

“No, actually,” Shion said slowly. He wondered what had given it away. “I used to live in No. 6.”

“What?” Fura’s eyes went wide. “You came from within the quarantine wall? Why—? How did you end up out  _ here _ ?” The question oozed with disgust.

Shion’s mouth turned down at the edges. “It’s complicated. But what matters is that I like where I am now. I don’t plan on returning to the city.”

Fura couldn’t have looked more shocked if Shion slapped him across the face. Shion understood his disbelief, but he didn’t have time to explain his reasons or feelings.

“I understand that you don’t know any details of the project in the Correctional Facility, but is there anything you can think of that could be helpful? We don’t have much time, so anything you can think of would help us.”

“I don’t know anything,” Fura said again. He prodded Shion’s finished bandages, then glanced at the pile of clothes Inukashi had dropped beside him and sneered.

“Well… If you could guess what the facility was for, what would you say?”

“Guess?”

“Yeah. Judging by what you know of the Mayor and the projects in the city, make a prediction for what might be happening. What do you think it is?”

Fura stared hard at him. Shion sympathized with the churning confusion he saw in his eyes. The man had spent his entire life as an elite under No. 6’s thumb, always told what to think and how to act. Imagination wasn’t productive, so it was highly discouraged. What would citizens need to fantasize about, said No. 6, when their lives were already perfect?

But it’s near impossible to keep a person from daydreaming, and Fura was obviously dissatisfied with his life, or else he wouldn’t be coming out to West Block to live out his fantasies. Shion believed he had the capacity to think for himself, if only he were put to the task.

Fura licked his lips. “I think…that the Health and Hygiene Bureau might have something to do with it.”

The energy in the room spiked. Inukashi shifted on the bed; Rikiga traded his weight from one leg to the other, eliciting a small squeak from the floorboards; the dark seemed to gather more heavily in the place where Nezumi lurked.

Shion leaned forward. “The Health and Hygiene Bureau? Why’s that?”

The bureau did exactly as one might imagine: it monitored the health of the city and its citizens, presiding over all hospitals and clinics in the quarantine zone. The Health and Hygiene Bureau was the first and foremost front the city had against fighting the infection and ensuring the virus never made it inside the walls. It handled the mandatory annual medical exams for the populace, and even administered the Children’s Examinations that measured which children deserved elite status and placement in the Gifted Curriculum.

The Health and Hygiene Bureau was integral to No. 6’s survival, but as far as Shion knew, it had little interaction or overlap with the Security Bureau. So what would the Health and Hygiene Bureau be doing building a space in the Correctional Facility? Shion’s only guess was that it might be virus research-related, but then, Nezumi had insisted that No. 6 already had a cure created. What else could they be looking into?

“At the Municipal Hospital…” Fura started, then paused, swallowing hard. His face had swollen, especially around his lips, and it seemed he was having trouble speaking without spit escaping the corners of his mouth. Fura wiped his chin with the back of his hand, wincing slightly, and started again.

“A few months ago, several doctors and nurses were transferred out of the Municipal Hospital. All of them were top-rankers and very skilled. No one ever said where they were going or why. I only heard about it from a friend in the hospital. But there were no records.”

“They had been erased?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? But I… I don't think there was ever a transfer record to begin with. I never saw one and everything goes through me.”

“And you never investigated why?”

Fura scowled at Shion like he had said something truly disgusting. “Of course not. It wasn’t my business. If I needed to know, the records would have been there.”

Of course. Fura would never jeopardize his position or his life by asking questions. To do such a thing was a death wish in No. 6.

Shion turned toward Nezumi. A faint breeze whistled through the open window, ruffling the hair that rested like soft ash over Nezumi’s forehead and ears. They hadn’t learned much, even if Shion had managed to get the man to speak to him.

“Sample,” Fura muttered to himself.

Shion’s attention snapped back to him. “Sample?”

“I just remembered. I’ve been seeing that word pop up in the Health and Hygiene Bureau’s reports lately. ‘Sample Collection Status.’ ”

“Samples of what?”

Fura shook his head. “But if it has to do with the Health and Hygiene Bureau, then…”

“It probably has to do with the project in the Correctional Facility,” Shion finished.

Samples. A project that didn’t exist. Dread crept into Shion’s throat, numbing the base of his skull. For a moment the world consisted only of one word:  _ Safu _ . He hoped to god she was not connected to whatever happened in the Correctional Facility basement.

“It seems like we’ve reached the end of this conversation,” said Nezumi. He pushed off the wall and approached Shion and Fura, twirling his knife idly in his hand.

Fura plastered himself against the window, eyes fixated on the blade flashing in the hazy candlelight. “Wait a second, you… Y-you aren’t going to k-kill me, are you?”

“Of course. We can’t have you squealing to the Security Bureau when you get back.”

“N-no. You can’t! I told you everything I know, I—” Fura’s gaze locked onto Shion, tears pricking the corners of his eyes again.

Shion rose to his feet. “Leave him be, Nezumi,” he said. “We’re not killing anyone. It’s not necessary. Rikiga, will you start the car? You can take him as close to the gates as you can get, then let him drive home from there.”

Rikiga shot a loaded look at Inukashi and hurried from the room again, without checking this time for a second approval.

Nezumi stopped spinning his knife and fixed Shion with a long, cold look. “You want to return him home, safe and sound.”

“Yes. He’s not going to tell anyone what happened.”

“Did you forget how he called us filth and vermin? How he said he’d be doing the world a favor if he exterminated us? He’s our enemy, Shion, of course he’s going to snitch.”

“I won’t! I swear,” bleated Fura.

“He won’t,” Shion agreed. He kept his gaze steady. Despite the hardness in Nezumi’s face and the tension stretching across the dim room, Shion didn’t feel like this was a fight. A challenge, more like. Nezumi’s grey eyes said,  _ Convince me. _

“Fura-san couldn’t tell anyone, even if he wanted to. No. 6 officials aren’t allowed outside the walls except for urgent business. If Fura-san admitted he was out in West Block, for no apparent reason, and without permission, he would be in serious trouble. His life would be forfeit if the Security Bureau caught wind of it. Fura-san knows this. You know this, too, Nezumi.”

Nezumi raised his chin and moved into Shion’s space, close enough to kiss. Though Shion knew that the only affection Nezumi’s current mood might deliver would be the kiss of death.

“Still parading around that half-assed sense of justice,” Nezumi murmured. “You forget that our lives are on the line here. If you want to go off and die with your morals, go ahead, but don’t drag the rest of us into the grave with you. You’re in no position to decide what’s ‘necessary’ or not. An enemy is an enemy, and we can’t afford loose ends.”

Shion half expected to feel Nezumi’s knife slither along the side of his neck. Nezumi’s sense of intimacy was closely intertwined with physical threats.

The knife never appeared, but the daggers in Nezumi’s eyes were just as cutting. A shiver rippled down Shion’s spine.

The landing creaked. Rikiga must have returned. Shion heard the man’s voice a moment later, confirming it. “Car’s heating...up…. Are you two  _ still _ fighting? Seriously, Eve, lay off.”

Nezumi stepped back and shrugged airily. “Who says we’re fighting? Shion and I are just having a discussion between equals.”

Shion turned back to Fura. “You can go home now, Fura-san. I’m sorry for the way you’ve been treated, but I really appreciate you sharing what you could.”

“...Your name is Shion?”

“That’s right.”

Fura rubbed at his bandaged wrists, confusion deepening the lines in his face. “I remember… There was a report about a first-class criminal by that name. A fallen elite who poisoned his coworker and fled. Was that you?”

“Is that the story they circulated? They make me sound so devious.” Shion adjusted the beanie on his head with a dry laugh.

He hoped his mother wasn’t suffering too much due to the rumors. She already had enough to deal with running the bakery alone. But he knew from the messages from the mice that she was safe and well, and that was enough for him. He couldn’t worry about her and Safu’s safety, so he would have to trust that his mother was staying strong.

“You’re different,” Fura said. He squinted at Shion, as though viewing him from another angle might reveal shadows that he had missed. “The boy in the picture… He looked crazed. His eyes were wild. Violent. Not—not gentle like yours. You don’t look similar at all.”

“Yeah, well, that’s information manipulation for you,” Rikiga muttered. “I’m sure you’re all too familiar with the concept.”

Fura cut a look at him. “I’ve never tampered with information. I would never dirty my hands with lies like that. There’s no reason to.”

“Right,” Inukashi drawled. “Just like you always tell your wife the truth about where you go when you’re ‘working late.’ ”

Fura chewed the air for a moment. “That’s different; that’s my business. I would never mess with the city’s information. I release it exactly as I receive it.”

“And you’ve never questioned whether the information that comes across your desk is the truth?” Rikiga said.

“Why would I? The city—”

“You said the boy you saw in the criminal report looked crazed,” Rikiga cut in. He grasped Shion by the shoulders. “But here he is in the flesh. The truth’s right in front of you, and as you said, it looks nothing like what No. 6 has led you to believe.”

Fura didn’t speak. His gaze flitted between Shion and Rikiga, then darted to Nezumi, still blending with the shadows at the edge of the room, and finally rested on Inukashi. His face trembled as he considered the new information.

After a long silence, he said, “You said you wanted information on the Correctional Facility.”

Shion straightened. “Yes.”

“You said you needed it to save your friend.”

“Yes.” Shion pulled away from Rikiga’s hands and knelt before Fura again. “Do you know something that can help us?”

“If your friend was arrested as you said, and was taken to the Correctional Facility, then she’s long gone…. The Correctional Facility is impenetrable. You can’t really believe you can break her out. It’s insane.”

“We have to try. I won’t give up on her, no matter how hard it seems.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Fura’s temple, mingling with the tear streaks and spit from his torture. A few droplets hit the floor, thunderous in the silence.

“I have the latest updates,” he said, quietly, as though the whispering wind might carry his words back to prying ears. “I don’t know anything about the new facility, but I have the latest on the rest of the Correctional Facility.”

Excitement fluttered in Shion’s chest like a flock of startled birds. “Thank you, Fura-san.”

Inukashi wasted no time. They hopped off the bed, placed the white robotic mouse down before Fura, and shoved an electronic pen into the man’s trembling fingers.

Inukashi gestured at the hologram that bloomed from the robot’s back. “The red circles mark where the security devices I know about are. I think I got most of them, but—” They shrugged. “Add whatever I missed.”

Fura pressed his lips together as he studied the hologram. He raised his hand and silently began pecking at the display with the electronic pen, and dragging faint green lines across the digital floors.

“That’s all I know,” Fura said when he was finished. He dropped the pen and let it roll away on the slant in the floor.

The security had more than tripled, and the number of cell blocks had shrunk by two-thirds. Shion leaned toward the hologram, his jaw locked tight. Every floor was outfitted with automatic barriers at the crux of each hallway, in case of a break out, or to contain an outbreak. If he was reading the diagram correctly, then once the barriers were triggered, they were designed to release a high-voltage electric current, which would fry anything caught between its walls.

“Fuck,” Inukashi breathed. They bent over to stare at the galaxy of red dots and green lines.

“It’s a fortress,” Shion agreed.

“It’s a place of holocaust.” Nezumi rescued the electric pen from rolling out of the open door and strode back to the shocked company. “And one day, it’ll become a magnificent monument to genocide.”

“Genocide?” Shion twisted around. “How many have been killed there?”

“Present tense, not past, Shion.” Nezumi gestured at the hologram. “The number of cell blocks have been scaled down, but they’re still taking just as many prisoners. What does that tell you?”

Shion’s cheeks pricked. “The prisoners don’t stay long enough to need accommodation.”

People were being disposed of before they even made it to the cells. Perhaps they never even made it to the Correctional Facility. The Deadlands were vast, and the creatures roaming it were a convenient excuse for a prisoner’s disappearance.

Nezumi stood at Shion’s side and looked down at Fura. “I’m curious. How do you know the security layout of the Correctional Facility so well?”

Fura stared at the floor. “I saw the schematics recently. It was in a top-secret file sent over last week.”

“And why would such a top-secret file come across your desk? You said the Central Administration Bureau hardly ever works in concert with the Correctional Facility. So this file must have something to do with you specifically, something only top-rankers like yourself would be privy to. Am I right?”

Fura probed the inside of his cheek with his tongue. The corners of his eyes pinched and he immediately stopped. He must have aggravated the cut inside his mouth.

“Does it have to do with the Hunt?” asked Nezumi.

Inukashi and Rikiga went rigid at the word. Shion’s stomach clenched as he studied Fura’s fingers scratching noisily at the fabric of his pants. No one had bothered to explain exactly what ‘the Hunt’ was, but there was only one topic which made West Block’s hardened citizens stiffen and go pale.

“Is there going to be a Hunt soon?” Nezumi asked again, taking a step closer.

Fura edged away toward the window. “It’s called a Clean-up.”

“Oh right.” Nezumi chuckled darkly. “That’s how you people see it. Just cleaning up the garbage that’s built up outside your door. So when’s this cleaning scheduled?”

“There’s no set date. Sometime before the Holy Celebration.”

“Nice,” said Nezumi with a pleasant smile. “A little spring cleaning before the big day. That the idea?”

Shion trembled. The Hunt. Clean-up. The dark looks on his friends’ faces and the guarded expression on Fura’s.  _ They can’t mean… _

But what else could it be but a culling? After the conversation they’d had tonight about secret facilities and samples, Shion wasn’t sure if anything was sacred anymore. But he wouldn’t ask aloud—this was a horror that Shion wasn’t ready to hear confirmed.

Fura fisted his hands in the fabric of his pant legs and dared to meet Nezumi's eyes. “It’s necessary. The population has grown too large. The violence has escalated in all quarters, and you should know as well as I that disease spreads faster in close quarters. The Clean-up is as much for  _ your _ sake as it is for ours.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Nezumi said, pressing a hand over his heart. “The Holy City takes  _ such _ good care of its disadvantaged neighbors. Does the Clean-up committee take suggestions? I have a few competitors I would love for you to wipe off the face of the earth.”

“I want to go home,” Fura muttered and clambered to his feet. He swayed and had to grasp the window sill to steady himself. “You said you’d let me go. I want to leave now.”

“Of course,” Shion said. “Thank you, Fura-san. You can change your clothes, and then Rikiga-san will take you home.”

He could feel Nezumi and Inukashi’s displeasure rolling through the room like a cold snap, but Shion found it in him to be polite to the No. 6 official. Regardless of who this man was or the sins he had committed, he had given them valuable information. Dangerous information, which could make the difference between saving Safu and certain death. Shion would not let it go to waste.

Rikiga collected the clothes from the floor and led Fura out.

“Looks like Shion won this round,” Inukashi said. “It’s like what my Mum used to say: You get more scraps with tail wags than with teeth.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at. I don’t speak dog.”

“Aw, don’t play coy, Nezumi.” Inukashi laughed. “I know you’re impressed with little Shion’s results. I watched you the whole time; you couldn’t take your eyes off him. He had that elite singing like a bird, when you could barely make him peep.”

Nezumi sucked in a sharp breath, held it for a second, then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it. He turned to Shion and gestured at the hologram. “Memorize that schematic. Every floor, every sensor.”

“Got it.” Shion picked the white mouse from the floor and powered it down.

Nezumi snorted. “What? No whining? Pretty confident, are you?”

“Very. Safu’s life depends on my becoming an expert on the Correctional Facility, and so do ours. I won’t fail you.”

The wind rattled through the open window, sending the candles into a frenzy. The wild amber glow flickered over Nezumi’s face, and for a moment Shion was struck by how soft he looked. He was so young—they both were. Why had fate brought them to such a hard place so soon? For the first time, Shion truly understood what Nezumi meant when he said life wasn’t fair.

“Stay close to me,” Nezumi said, moving toward the door. “From now on, don’t leave my sight. We don’t know when the Hunt will happen, and if we get separated when it does, we’ll never see each other again. I know I always say you won’t survive a second without me, but this time I really mean it.”

Shion gripped the robot mouse tightly and followed Nezumi out into the dark.


End file.
